A Ballad for the Devil
by Stratagem Blue
Summary: Christian has made a deal with the devil to save Satine's life. To do so, he must travel back to when it all began and cheat fate at its own game. In the end, he will discover whether love can overcome all obstacles, or whether Death is just too strong.
1. The Contract

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge.

A/N: Welcome to my first Moulin Rouge fanfic. This first chapter is dark and angsty, but there will be many happy and romantic moments to come - if people like my story, that is. The basic plot line is that Christian has made a deal with the devil to save Satine's life, and the workings of this deal will be revealed as the story unfolds. Please, please review! It will inspire me to write a second chapter faster. Read on and enjoy!

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Chapter 1: The Contract

The typewriter stared up at him, the keys mocking him with the story they yearned to capture. He hummed softly under his breath, a melody now broken by grief and regret. Another vague melody drifted through his open window, light and bouncy and in a completely different world. It came from the underworld, or so he imagined. The lights of the Moulin Rouge played across the night sky and made the stars dim by comparison. He sighed shakily and glanced down at his worn table.

Beside his typewriter there lay a single sheet of paper, the handwriting utterly beautiful and frightening.

_What do I do? _he asked himself, his indecision eating away at him. He looked over at the Persian elephant, so horribly dark and unoccupied. _What do I do? Can I really ever move on from here? How many years alone...? I just can't do it. But can I really do _this_? Satine, I wish you could tell me._

He cried a little in the darkness there, but only a little. He scarcely had a tear left in him. The music in the distance was lively and upbeat, drumming in his ears and haunting him with memories. He bit his lip in concentration, trying to hear what his heart was telling him; trying to listen to the music it sang with every beat of his heart.

_Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing?_

He smiled as the ghost of her voice rose up in his mind. He could still see her on stage, her eyes sparkling like the diamonds she sang of so often before finding love. Her face filled his mind; the shape of her lips and the curve of her cheek. He envisioned the fall of her hair, its wonderful texture running through his fingertips.

Could it be that all of this tragedy, this anguish, might be reversed? The man who had presented him with this solution had spoken with such knowledge, and there had been a power in his voice that had unnerved the young writer. Somehow, it was not quite human. It seemed that such ideas and dreams of second chances were actually within his reach. At least, while the man had been speaking in his terribly charming voice it had. Now cold uncertainty gripped him, and he sat in doubt.

_If I do this, than everything could right itself by the end. It would be completely different behind that final curtain. If I don't do this..._

He closed his eyes and let himself be carried ahead of his time, using his vast imagination to see the outcome of this life he now found himself in. He saw lonely nights and even lonelier days, unending glasses of absinthe and blank pages of paper, his stories wilting inside him without a sun to make it grow. He kept picturing himself wandering around Paris, forever bound to it by love. He kept seeing the now empty dressing room in the Moulin Rouge.

He saw a world without Satine.

He realized that there truly existed no choice at all. The thought of going on when his soul would always be trapped here, in the lights of the city and the beat of the Bohemian music, was more than he could bare. He looked down at the contract, for that was rightly what it was. The letters blared up at him, beseeching him to lift the pen that lay beside it and sign his name. Urging him to lift the knife that rested in his lap and seal his decision with a single drop of blood.

_Satine._

He lifted the pen and gently signed his name across the bottom, the ink flowing smoothly from the tip. When he was finished, he set the pen down and picked up the small dagger, its silver blade gleaming faintly in the moonlight. He put his thumb at the very tip, pushing down and splitting the skin there. He pressed it to the paper next to his signature, leaving behind a bloody fingerprint when he drew back his hand.

For a moment, nothing changed. The sounds of the ever raging party next door continued unhindered, and the music still came lazily through his window. His typewriter still sat unmoved with a blank page in its clutches, the room as silent and stuffy as it had been seconds ago. Across the way, Satine's room was still dark.

And then his vision began to blur. An overwhelming fatigue fell upon him, immediately zapping his strength and clouding his mind. He stood and nearly lost his balance, stumbling awkwardly over to his bed. The world spun around him, making him nauseous and dizzy, the colors of his apartment suddenly too vivid. He dropped onto the mattress with an exhaustion he did not understand, his surroundings already fading to black as darkness took him.

His last thought before he lost consciousness was of Satine, singing softly to him from the Gothic Tower.

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A/N: I hope you liked the first chapter. Review and tell me if you did, or even if you didn't. I am not afraid of constructive criticism. Thanks! 


	2. Been Here Before

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: I was really amazed by the wonderful reviews I got - thank you all so much for your support! It means so much to me. Good constructive criticism too. Here is the second chapter, as promised, and I hope you enjoy it. More than that, I hope you review it. I'll go on about reviews quite a lot, but I can't help it - they're my oxygen.

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Chapter 2: Been Here Before

When he first awoke, he kept his eyes firmly closed. The forgotten sensation of warmth was on his skin, the inside of his eyelids painted red. The air felt different as he breathed it in; cool, crisp, invigorating. The whole mood of the atmosphere around him felt slightly askew, and the sounds of the morning that drifted in his window seemed somehow brighter than they had in days passed. An elated sensation arose in the pit of his stomach, yet a seed of doubt curled around his heart.

_It's all in my head. Nothing has changed. I dreamed I had a conversation with the Devil of all things, and that we struck up a bargain. It was just a dream brought on by too much absinthe and painful memories. I'll open my eyes and everything will be just as I left it. Satine is gone, doomed to become another of my dreams. Like love._

Melancholy descended on him as he lay there. It had been a dark dream, but it had given him hope. He sighed and opened his eyes.

Certain things immediately caught his attention. His apartment was much tidier than he remembered leaving it, the clothes stacked away neatly and the drapes clean and spotless. His desk was no longer a cluttered mess, and his typewriter gleamed as though it were fairly new. No bottles of whiskey littered the floor. No crumpled pieces of paper surrounded an overflowing waste basket in the corner. Sunlight poured into the tiny room, blinding him with its radiance.

_Could it be...?_

With a trembling hand he reached up and touched his cheek. The skin was smooth against his palm, no trace of a beard or stubble beneath his fingertips. He glanced down at himself and saw that his clothes were different than those he had been wearing the previous night. The cloth was new and unstained, mildly wrinkled from being slept in but not nearly as dingy as his earlier attire. The shoes next to his bed were shined and polished. A decent gray hat lay on his bedside table.

"It worked," he said to himself, his voice hoarse and unbelieving.

He stood from the bed and walked hazily over to his desk, staring down at his typewriter. He lightly ran his fingers over the keys, soaking up the look and feel of the letters as he did so. The single sheet of paper, the contract, was no where in sight. He squinted against the harsh glare of the light and looked out the window. The Moulin Rouge was dim and quiet, the courtyard around the elephant eerily desolate. The curtains in the top room were drawn. Reality felt completely unreal at that moment.

"Could this really be happening?" he whispered, his tone awed and fearful.

As if in answer to his question, the ceiling suddenly caved in and an unconscience man fell into his room in a shower of plywood and drywall. His heart leapt into his throat, partially from surprise but mostly from recognition. The Argentinean dangled upside down, swaying back and forth like a broken pendulum, and Christian could only gape at him in astonishment. He felt as though his mind was being slowly ripped in two.

_I remember this_, he thought numbly, his breathing shallow and uneven.. _I remember everything that happened. Everything. He fell through my ceiling...I was standing there, wondering what to do, when the door opened and - _

The door opened and in walked Toulouse, dressed as a nun and smiling from ear to ear. Christian almost called out to him by name, so happy was he to see his close friend. They had not spoken in nearly a month. At least, not in the future. Here they had never met, and Christian had to bite his tongue in order to keep from revealing the impossible secret of what had happened to him. One wrong word, one misstep in the course of events, and it would all be for nothing. He felt suddenly afraid, a massive weight falling on his shoulders as he realized just what he had gotten into, the amazement of it all beginning to fade away.

"How do you do?" he asked, sweeping into the room and twirling his cane. He then proceeded to reel off a series of names, Toulouse being the only one of which the poor writer could comprehend. "I'm terribly sorry about all this. We were just upstairs rehearsing a play."

"Spectacular Spectacular," Christian whispered under his breath before he could stop himself.

"What was that?" Toulouse asked, still smiling happily.

"Nothing," he mumbled quickly. He tried to smile despite his pounding heart. "What kind of play is it?"

A few moments later, after promising to participate in place of the Argentinean, he was able to usher them away and have some time to collect himself. He stood momentarily in the silence, feeling both numb and completely electrified. His mind was spinning, going over random images and trying to piece them together. He had gone back. Somehow, he was back at the beginning, on the very day that had initiated him into the world of the Moulin Rouge. Satine's world. Dimly he remembered the agreements of the contract, and a cold anxiety began to creep up his spine. He pushed those thoughts away forcefully; he would have to deal with them at another time. For now, there were other matters to attend to.

Christian retrieved the whiskey bottle lying in the top drawer of his desk and took a good, long swallow.

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A/N: What _exactly_ was in that contract? Hope you liked it. Review right now! Please? 


	3. A Decision

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Since it has been mentioned a few times, (and because I feel I owe my lovely readers for their lovely reviews), I will state this now - the meeting with the devil will be revealed in detail in another chapter. The reason I did not include it in the first chapter, or make it _the_ first chapter, is because something important will be revealed in it. With that said, I would like to thank everyone who reviewed my last chapter. It really means so much to me, and they always get my imaginative streak going. Here now is the third chapter, which I hope you all enjoy and review. Read!

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Chapter 3: A Decision

A tentative knock sounded at the door. He knew who it was, but it did nothing to improve his mood. He sat at the window, staring out at the failing sun in glorious shades of pinks and oranges. It left a brilliant halo glowing around the backdrop of the city, the colors seeming to melt into the horizon. A perfect picture. He sighed wearily.

"Come in, Toulouse."

The door swung open on creaking hinges to reveal Toulouse on the threshold, still dressed as a nun. His expression was guarded and wary, as though he expected the young writer to burst into rage at the sight of him. Christian couldn't blame him; the way he had stormed out of rehearsal was enough to make anyone cautious while in his company. The concerned look on his friend's face only made it worse, a twinge of guilt beginning to rise in his conscience.

It had been a delightful rehearsal, full of the energy and laughter that he had missed so dearly. The songs came smooth and clear from his worn throat, where the will and desire to sing had been dead for some time. It had filled him with mysterious wonder, and he had let the music take him until he felt it vibrating in his very bones. But then they began speaking of Satine, of the plan to win her over with his poetry, and he had let the music fade.

"I'm sorry if we upset you, Christian," Toulouse said gently, his apology making the guilt curl deeper. "We were just..._intrigued _by your talent."

"I didn't mean to become so angry upstairs," he replied, still concentrating on the world outside his window. " It's not the show, believe me. The ideas behind it are noble, and I admire them. But you must understand..."

He turned from the window to face Toulouse. That wild Bohemian romanticism was gleaming in his friend's eyes, pulsing there almost like a fever of the mind. He saw how deeply the man sought to find an exit for his beliefs; to express truth and beauty and freedom...and love, all through the spirit of dance and the passion of music.

He wished he could be what Toulouse and the others wanted him to be, and that he could share their visions and stories through his pen. But he had realized that such wishful thinking was as damnable as becoming a slave to love. In the end, it took you nowhere.

"I can't be your revolutionary. My writing has lost whatever genuine sincerity it once had. The inspiration that compelled it is gone, and I just can't-" He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words and coming up short. The crestfallen look on Toulouse's face was almost more than he could stand. "I can't go to the Moulin Rouge. I'm sorry."

He turned back to the window, leaning with both hands against the frame, wanting more than anything to tell his friend the truth and knowing it to be impossible. He bowed his head, as though subjecting to some kind of defeat. The boards groaned underfoot as Toulouse shuffled around, making ready to leave.

"I hope to see you soon," he said, the door rasping as he pulled it closed. "Perhaps you'll attend another rehearsal. Maybe you can give us some suggestions on how to improve the play."

"Perhaps," Christian mumbled in reply. For a moment it was quiet, the only sound coming from adjoining rooms around the building, and he thought Toulouse had gone back upstairs. But then he heard a soft sigh behind him, terribly forlorn and sad.

"You know, Christian, I don't know what happened to make you so doubtful of your writing, or why it seems to bother you...but you have talent, more so than any I've met here in Paris. There's a reason why some of us can write and some of us can't. I only hope you can find the right story to tell."

The door closed with a light snap.

Thoughts scrambled for purchase in his mind, tumbling around inside his head. He had thought he could stand strong against his decision to avoid the Moulin Rouge. And Satine. He kept seeing that inhumanly perfect handwriting, scrawled out over the page in its strange elegance. He had known then how the agreement would work, had known before signing what the consequences could mean; yet he had never really believed, and so he had signed.

Still, Toulouse's words kept echoing inside him, and he could not block them out. Could he really stay away from her, even if it was for the best? Their story, the most poignant and beautiful thing he had ever known, had been a plan of fate. Or so he had always believed. He had given up everything, _everything_, to change that plan, and to give to her the life that had been denied her. A life free of pain and death and poverty. The life of an actress, which she would have obtained had he not interfered. A life where she would never know the hardships of love...and the bitterness of losing it. Even if they had the chance to love again, in the end, death would intercede and take it away. And he would do everything to spare her the torment that he himself had lived through once before.

But he knew he could not hold out. The pull was too strong for him to resist. If only from a distance, he had to see her.

Ten minutes later he was standing outside Toulouse's door. When it opened, he did not wait for his friend to speak. He only had one question. Whether or not it was the right one still remained to be seen.

"When do we leave?"

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A/N: So Christian wants to give Satine a better life. But was that in the contract? We'll soon be finding out, it seems... 


	4. Dancing and Diamonds

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Thanks are in order to my dear reviewers. I'm really getting some good feedback and I appreciate it tremendously. Here now we begin to see the changes that occur in the original timeline, which will ultimately lead to bigger changes throughout. Hope you enjoy it, as a certain someone makes their first appearance.

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Chapter 4: Dancing and Diamonds

Energy hummed in his bones from the force of the music. The band sat gloriously at the head of the room, the brass shining in the light and the velvet curtains pulled to the side, framing the stage. The tables were filled to the limit, with shadows moving across the crimson pillars and images reflected in every pane of glass. Everyone was dressed to the nines in a sea of black suits and top hats.

And of course, the Diamond Dogs were on the dance floor. They moved in a swirl of color, their dresses jarringly bright against the blandness of the polished wood. Christian sat impassive to most of this, remembering vaguely his first trip to the Moulin Rouge and knowing that this, _again_, was his first trip. If his intentions met their goals, then it would also be his last.

"Christian?"

He turned to Toulouse, who was staring at him with a slightly apprehensive expression. No doubt he had noticed that Christian had not excepted any dance proposals, nor ordered a drink or even left his seat. The hall was fit to burst with laughter and excitement and motion, yet he sat with only a mild gleam of interest in his eye. Christian gave a false smile and was relieved to see his friend relax somewhat.

"Sorry, Toulouse. I'm just not much of a party person, I guess," he offered lamely, shrugging his shoulders. Toulouse nodded and gave him an understanding pat on the arm.

"That's alright," he said, smiling in return. "Paris is basically one ongoing party in itself, and it doesn't suit everyone. It just depends on where you're tastes lie."

He suddenly leaned forward, his smile turning into a mischievous grin. "But wait until you see Satine. The Sparkling Diamond."

Christian's stomach lurched horribly. He smiled weakly before turning away. "I'm sure she's wonderful."

The music swelled to a crescendo, the dancers spinning in rhythm with their partners towards the climax of the song. He could see the flash of lust and desire in so many eyes, a type of possession that had only controlled him once before. The heat and vigor of the night was infectious, floating on the air and seeping into the minds of the vulnerable and ignorant. Colors and shapes were massed together as he saw everything there and nothing at all. It was through this mass that he spied the Duke.

He sat a few tables down, watching the activity with a mild expression quite similar to his own. Harold was sitting next to him, a smug light shining in his eyes. As Christian watched, he leaned across the table and whispered in the Duke's ear, most likely arranging the meeting with Satine. Anger flared up inside him at the sight, startling in its intensity.

The sensation was fleeting, however, as the lights were suddenly extinguished. For a moment there were only disembodied voices floating in the darkness, the band having eerily stopped mid beat. Then, like the sunlight splitting clouds, a beam came down from the ceiling with sparkling confetti caught in its light. He felt his pulse quicken, a strange and nameless fear tearing at his heart, constricting his breathing. The swing lowered from above and there she sat over the crowd.

Satine.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Her hair was pulled up under the hat, revealing her striking features and allowing the eye to follow her smooth skin to the shoulder. She glimmered like the north star, her heavenly blue eyes the brightest point in the room. He barely registered the fact that he had left his chair and was now standing at the edge of the dance floor. Her first notes pierced his heart, and he was not surprised in the least at how painful it was.

As the swing carried her in a circle over the heads of the awe struck crowd, Christian realized that she would soon be descending among the guests - and that she could once again mistake him for the Duke. Without a word to Toulouse, he crossed to the other side of the hall and found an empty table at the very back. From that vantage point he watched her for the rest of the night, the envious pang of jealously ringing in his heart when she danced with the Duke. The dance they should have shared.

At the end she was once again suspended on the swing, radiant in the dim light. It was the moment he had come for; the moment that would reveal if he had truly righted the deepest wrong he had ever known. He clenched his fists, concentrating so hard that he was oblivious to the man watching him from the corner. As she sang out her last line he found he was holding his breath.

_"Diamonds are a girl's best..."_ He was on his feet, waiting. Watching and waiting in the longest moment of his life. _"...friend!"_

The cheers were extravagant as the swing was pulled up into the ceiling, taking Satine with it. The lights came on and the music resumed, all as bright and optimistic as ever they had been. It was only then that he raised a hand to his cheek and felt the tears there, the burning knot in his throat extending to his eyes. He began walking towards the double doors at the front, staring at the ground and unsuccessfully trying to hold back a sob. As he neared the exit, a hand reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Christian, what ...?" Toulouse was staring up at him with concern and confusion, unable to finish his question at the sight of the tears.

"Not now. I have to go," he said shortly, pulling his arm away roughly.

He briefly glanced in the direction of the Duke, a surge of hatred pounding in his head, and Toulouse turned to follow his gaze. Before he could turn back Christian had left, walking swiftly through the doors to take cold solace in the night air. The shadow that unfurled itself from the corner and drifted upstairs went unnoticed.

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A/N: So Satine is no longer sick. It appears that someone was checking up on Christian during the performance. Review and tell me what you thought! 


	5. The Interest of Friendship

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Many thanks for the reviews, as they were highly encouraging and made me smile. This chapter is a little longer than I really wanted it to be, but I didn't want to divide it into two parts. It's mostly dialogue anyway. So, I hope it's worth the extra length. As always, please review and give me feedback.

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Chapter 5: The Interest of Friendship 

The next few days passed without incident, the hours coming and going without distinction. For Christian, it was a continuous strand of long walks and fitful slumbers, accompanied by nightmares that haunted him even when he was awake. He measured time by the glow of the sunset or the waning of the moon, and how the light played across the colors of the Persian elephant outside his window.

The only thing that seemed to consume the moments in between was searching for the contract. At first it had appeared to be of no consequence, but after a casual glance around his room, Christian had been unsettled by its sudden disappearance. He had checked over the apartment every day, each time with less enthusiasm and less expectation, yet it remained unfound.

And every day, his unease deepened.

It was the contract he was thinking of as he returned home one evening after a reflective walk by the Seine. He was lost in the image of Satine, the artless flow of her name in that strange handwriting, when he glanced up at the top of the stairway and saw Toulouse standing in front of his door.

"I was just about to knock," he said, a smile gracing his lips.

"You get to skip a step, then."

Christian unlocked the door and let Toulouse in first, shutting it lightly behind them. The apartment was in disarray, with clothes strewn about the floor and bed, and paper crumpled in the corners. Ink blotches were scattered across the top of the desk, and the garbage can lay overturned. He smiled apologetically and cleared a seat for his friend, finding a place of his own among the shirts upon his coverlet.

"Sorry I've not been by in awhile," Christian began, rubbing his hands together distractedly.

"That's alright. I've been busy lately anyway," Toulouse said casually, but Christian could see a vague concern in his eyes.

"You've been well, I hope?"

"As well as can be expected," he replied distantly. "Been wondering what you were up to in my spare time. You know, between my failed attempts at being a playwright."

He smiled at that, but he could see that Toulouse was still agitated, still worried. "Well, I've just been taking it easy -"

"Christian." He recognized the serious tone in Toulouse's voice; a prelude to something more meaningful, and perhaps the source of his friend's disquiet. Several seconds passed before he continued. "I wanted to discuss something with you. Something that's been bothering me since the night we went to the Moulin Rouge."

"Go ahead." He waited patiently for Toulouse to collect his thoughts, feeling slightly apprehensive.

"You seemed rather reluctant to go in the first place. You were especially sensitive to the subject of Satine, I noticed. And then, when we were there...Christian, I saw the look you gave the Duke just before you left, and I saw the way you reacted when you saw her. I saw the tears."

Christian sighed and turned his gaze to the floor, not wanting to give anything away by the bleakness reflected in his eyes. He had feared that his behavoir would not go unnoticed, and would initiate such anxiety as what he felt here and now. He should never have ventured away from the seclusion of his apartment to step through those doors, into that twisted world of desire. He should never have risked the chance to see her, however fleeting.

"Is that you and Satine were once involved? If you don't wish to tell me, that's fine. I'll understand."

He shook his head wearily, but not in refusal. He sighed again, this time letting the air pass slowly through his lips to calm the sudden nervousness that had appeared in his gut. He had to chose his words with care, and the pressure of slipping up was bearing down on him with great tension.

"For a time, yes; we were...involved," he said, staring resolutely at the floor. A picture of Satine flashed across his mind, wearing the wedding dress and looking more beautiful on that stage and in that moment - he pushed it from his thoughts. "It..it didn't work out, and that's where I'd like to leave it."

But he couldn't help adding, with encroaching bitterness, "Besides, the Duke is sure to offer her much more than I."

"Well, maybe not," Toulouse replied slyly, and Christian gave him a questioning look, to which his friend would only respond with a smile.

"Toulouse, what are you talking about?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, you see, after that little look you gave the Duke, and after cleverly deducing the relationship between you and Satine, I decided to..._interfere_. For the interest of friendship, you understand. I just happened to know, by way of eavedropping, that Satine had already arranged for a rehearsal with the Bouffes du Nord Theater, and that she was only going to entertain the Duke in case she didn't get the part."

"So I took it upon myself to create a little mischief. It became quite difficult for the Duke to keep his appointment. I'm sure it would be quite difficult for anyone to do so after being soaked in a gallon of tar. Someone's going to have a lot of laundry to attend to."

Christian sat there, stunned momentarily by the brazen individual before him. True, Toulouse had always had difficulty with memorizing his lines, but the man's talent for deductive reasoning, (and a certain measure of spying), were uncanny. Despite the miserable weight pulling at his heart, Christian could not supress the smile that spread across his face like a blooming flower. She was free; free of the Duke, free of her sickness. Free of the Moulin Rouge.

"Toulouse..." he began weakly, not knowing how to express his absolute gratitude, but at that moment the ceiling shuddered violently. They both looked upward to the sound of angry voices drifting down through the plaster and the pounding of heavy feet.

"Damn that Argentinean!" Toulouse cursed, jumping up from his seat and heading for the door. "I told him not to argue with the other actors!"

"Toulouse!"

At the door he paused, turning back to Christian with a solemn expression. His hand rested on the handle.

"Thank you," he said, feeling that the words were meager compared to what he felt. Terribly meager. Yet it was all he had. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Christian."

"One question."

"What?"

"Where in the world did you get a gallon of _tar_?"

Laughing and shaking his head impishly, Toulouse swept through the door without answering, leaving Christian to smile softly in his wake. As he heard fresh footsteps in the room over his head, he realized just how lucky he had been to find such a friend, and in such a place as this. For a moment, the gloom of his surroundings did not appear so gray, his mind stilled with thoughts of his love and the life she would now lead, independent of the bonds that tried to hold her back.

_Free._

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A/N: Yeah, so, Toulouse is gonna be an important character in this fic, as he's one of my favorites and I couldn't resist. As for the story, we'll see where it goes from here. 


	6. Bouffes du Nord

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Extremely appreciative of the reviews, as always. Only one thing; I do not own the Bouffes du Nord Theater, (because it's a real one that I didn't make up), but I do own the song in this chapter, because I did make up and it's not real. So, on with the chapter!

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Chapter 6: Bouffes du Nord

He stood in the eves at the back of the theater, the musty smell of age and slow decay hanging on the air about him. It was a nest of shadows, the large oaken doors closed against the daylight with only a few meek candles to hold back the darkness. Quietly he waited behind a pillar beneath the farthest balcony, the seats falling away to the stage below in a wave of red velvet.

From one of those seats there came a crisp, executive voice. "Mademoiselle Satine!"

Across the empty hall Christian watched as she emerged from the folds of the curtain. She seemed to float with an ethereal beauty in a flowing gown of pale blue, her hair loosed behind her in a tumble of soft curls. He felt a small chill pass through him at the expression on her face; she was completely elated, lost in the excitement of her audition. She was glowing.

"And what is the name of your audition piece?"

"I've Been Dreaming of You."

"Please continue."

The resonating notes of a piano rose to the vaulted ceiling above, and as the music came to a decrescendo the first lyric reached him in his hidden spot. Her voice was clear and pristine, full of energy and emotion. The entire hall was filled with its sound, echoing brilliantly against the walls until he could feel it vibrating in his bones. For a moment he closed his eyes and envisioned hers, and it was as though she were singing to him, and only for him.

_"And then I woke to find that you were here, smiling at me..."_

He cherished it until the music died away, and then Satine was bowing to the judges, ready to depart. Christian saw her walk across the stage, still beaming from her song.

At the curtains she paused, a strange expression forming on her face. He leaned further around the pillar, trying to see what had caused her to hesitate. She turned slightly and looked out into the vast theater, her eyes scanning over the sculptured balconies and the unlit chandelier. They lingered over the carpeted staircase and the empty seats until, inevitably, they fell upon him. He ducked back quickly, cursing lightly under his breath, but he knew she had already seen.

Yet before his mind had time to adjust, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked down the darkened corridor to see a darker silhouette moving between the pillars, its posture slumped as though in stealth. As he watched, the figure twisted and seemed to glance over its shoulder, two pale rays appearing in the gloom from lamplike eyes. His breathing became shallow, the feeling in his legs slowly ebbing away.

_I've seen those eyes..._

It felt as though he only held that eerie gaze for a few seconds, a penetrating stare that was disquieting but brief. Yet as the figure began to recede, fading gradually into the shadows around it, Christian heard footsteps behind him, and he knew it had somehow been much longer than that.

"You're not allowed to be up here, you know."

His mouth went dry. With a strangely painful sensation in his chest, he turned around and saw her standing there, close enough to reach out and touch. The theater was suddenly too quiet, an odd ringing in his ears. Memories flashed across his mind in random order, of walks in the gardens of Paris and making love and moonlit serenades. He felt nearly torn in two, about to speak for the first time to the only woman he had ever loved. She was smiling softly at him, a curious gleam in her eye as he just stood there and stared.

"Did you hear me?"

"I...yes," he stammered, coming slowly out of his daze. He hoped his expression was merely abashed, and not completely awestruck. "I didn't mean to intrude."

"Then why did you?" she asked, but her smile had widened and he knew she was only being inquisitive.

"I was walking by on the street outside and...I...I heard music," he lied swiftly, trying to avoid her gaze and failing dismally. "I followed it inside, and I found you singing. It was...very lovely. You'll make a fine actress someday."

"Do you really think so?" she asked, letting her guard drop for a second. He could see the doubt in her, oppressing the dream of becoming something more than just a showgirl. He smiled warmly at her, resisting the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek.

"I'm sure of it," he said sincerely, and then the clock chimed the hour.

"I have to go," she said, jumping at the time and heading for the door. She glanced back as the sunlight cracked through, smiling gratefully. "Thanks for the encouragement."

And then she was gone, leaving Christian in the dim interior of the theater, only a few lit candles and a sinister shadow to keep him company.

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A/N: Not much else to say. Please review. 


	7. Developments

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Many thanks for the reviews - they keep me deliriously happy, and when I'm happy, I write.

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Chapter 7: Developments

"And you're saying that this shadow was following you?"

"Not exactly. It just felt that way. I know it was _watching_ me-"

"Christian, why are we referring to this shadow as 'it'? I mean, it had to be human, right? Christian?"

They stood together in the entrance of the Moulin Rouge, bathed in the warmth of the midday sun. Toulouse had come to an agreement with Harold to repaint the pillars framing the entry doors, seeking out any source of income that he could find. Having no other pressing matters to attend to, Christian had decided to tag along. It was a risk, but having interacted with Satine once without the world crashing down around him had increased his daring, however foolishly.

As he lifted the brush, dripping with candy apple red, Christian explained how he had glimpsed a figure in the hallway at the Bouffes du Nord Theater. While he spoke, he noticed from a distance that the Duke was also here, discussing business cheerily with Harold in a distant corner. He also noticed, with some satisfaction, that the Duke's hair was stained a murky shade of brown.

"Don't look at him," Toulouse whispered, continuing to paint with his back turned to the dance floor. "I don't want him to recognize me."

"What's he doing here?" Christian whispered, glaring periodically over his shoulder.

"I don't know," Toulouse replied. Then, giving Christian a quick glance, he asked, "What were you doing at the Bouffes du Nord, anyway?"

When Christian did not respond, merely handled his paint brush awkwardly, Toulouse smiled his knowing smile. "Oh. _That's_ why."

The Moulin Rouge was eerily desolate, only a few people there besides the Duke and Harold to clean up before the night's performance. The sunlight fell upon the empty chairs and tables with an innocence that Christian found both charming and ironic. It turned the dance floor to molten varnish, gleaming intensely against its pale surroundings. The atmosphere was lax and calming, something he had believed this place could never be. Time passed with ease.

Finishing with one spot, Christian climbed the ladder they had found backstage and began painting at a higher section. At the first down stroke a torrent of angry voices reached his ears, and he looked up to see Satine marching up the dance floor. Quickly he faced the pillar again, hoping not to be recognized, or noticed at all. Just under him he heard Toulouse moving about, and then his voice rang out with poignant concern.

"Satine! What ever is the matter?"

"It's Harold. He knows I auditioned at another theater and he's threatening to evict me."

Christian could hear how close to tears she was, but he knew her pride would not allow her to shed them. Not here, where someone could see. He closed his eyes and gripped the rungs of the ladder, wanting nothing more than to descend and embrace her, aching with the force it took to withhold.

"Would he really do that?" Toulouse asked.

"I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything anymore," she replied dismally, and before Toulouse had the chance to comfort her, she swept through the doors and out into the streets of Paris.

Sighing deeply, he began to lower himself down the ladder. He looked across the hall to see where Harold had gone, intending to deliver a very nasty look in his direction, but instead locked eyes with the Duke. He was smiling with a smug expression on his face, a roguish glint in his eye. As he stared at Christian, the smile seemed to widen, taking on a wicked, spiteful appearance. Christian felt a hollow sensation in his stomach at that penetrating gaze, just before the Duke turned and left the room.

"Close call, huh?" Toulouse said as Christian stepped back down to the floor.

It took him a moment to remember what Toulouse was talking about. "Oh...yes. Very close."

"Funny though. By the way she was ignoring you, one might have thought the two of you had never met before," Toulouse commented offhandedly, and Christian could feel the heat rising in his face. Toulouse gave him an appraising look. "I mean, the two of you _were_ in a relationship, after all."

Christian swallowed hard and said nothing. He knew Toulouse was suspicious, but for now his unease lied with greater uncertainties. The Duke being at the Moulin Rouge, though he had no reason to be without any ties to Satine, disturbed Christian deeply. Satine was incredibly upset, possibly about more than Harold's sudden warning, and with that last questionable smile the Duke had flashed across the hall, Christian could not help but wonder what business deals he was striking up this time.

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A/N: Review right now!...If you don't mind, I'd appreciate it... 


	8. Dark Depths

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Thanks so much to those who have been steadily reviewing. Yet I have to be honest, I would like to hear more from the others who have put me on their alert/favorites list. If you're reading the story, I'd like to know what your thoughts and suggestions are, if you like the direction it's going in, etc. I don't need a review for every chapter, but once every three or four would be nice. I don't know if by asking I'll gain anything, but I hope to hear from some new readers.

Oh, by the way, I changed my pen name, for those who didn't notice.

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Chapter 8: Dark Depths

The Seine was a dark ribbon flowing beneath him, churning under the arch of the bridge in a wrathful current. The sky was blank above him, the many lights of Paris on the waterfront obscuring the stars. The river swept away unheeded by the events unfolding in the city around it, and had Christian been able to, he would have ridden its mysterious waters to however far they could take him.

Yet he knew, through decree of a certain sheet of paper, that he couldn't leave by river, road, or any other means.

He alone stood at the rail, resisting the bitter winds that had blown in with the night, and so he sang. No one was around to hear, and he found he needed something to distract him from the pounding of his thoughts. He sang to forget about the contract, about time being a bendable thing, about the Duke still hovering around the Moulin Rouge. About Satine. He sang until he had hardly a breath left in him, but he felt his heart lighten ever so slightly. It felt good to sing after so long in his own silence.

_"My gift is my song...and this one's for you."_

He could envision the ornate decorations of Satine's room, surrounding him on all sides and filling him with an inner glow. It was that first beautiful night again, and her blue eyes were regarding him with that soft, pondering gaze. He remembered the warmth of her as they had danced together in the brief, imaginative world they had made. The vision suddenly became too real, and the poignancy of the memory caused him to halt mid-lyric.

"Please don't stop," an agonizingly tender voice spoke from behind.

She looked every bit the noblewoman that society had denied her to become. An elegant dress draped over her slim frame, and her hair wrapped up under a hat which flattered her lovely profile. The light of the buildings near the river illuminated her right side, seeming to almost radiate _from_ her, while her left side was still shrouded in the nighttime. He thought of how it reflected the two sides of her that he had come to know and love: the temptress and the dreamer.

"It appears that you like to catch me off guard," he said, trying to smile despite the butterflies reeking havoc in his stomach.

"Not really," she replied, obviously relieved that he wasn't upset by her intrusion. "I was just walking home when I passed by the bridge and heard someone singing. The tune sounded vaguely familiar, and I wanted to know who was singing it...you have a lovely voice."

"Then we have at least one thing in common," he said, and she smiled at that. He felt it would be worth jumping off the bridge to make her smile like that again, so openly and honestly happy. "I trust you were coming from the theater?"

"Yes." She paused for a moment, and she seemed to be debating with herself about sharing something with him. He stared at her curiously, and with a somewhat cautious expression, she took a step nearer. "Can I confide in you, Mr.-?"

"Christian," he said, and felt a strange feeling come over him at revealing his name.

"Christian," she repeated, and he felt a small thrill when she said it. "I've been worried about getting the part this past week. My current employer was threatening to evict me, and to keep him from doing so, I...I lied and told him I wouldn't take the job. But tonight...tonight, that's exactly what happened. I got the job."

"That's wonderful!" Christian exclaimed, and his sincerity must have been evident, for she smiled broadly for the second time. "Now you can leave the Mou- your old job and find a better place to live."

"Not just yet," she amended, and his gladness faltered. "I need to save up some money before I can leave, so I'll have to tread carefully until I do to make sure he doesn't find out."

"Well, he won't find out from me," Christian said, trying to lighten the air.

"I appreciate it," she said, and then considered him for a moment. "You know, you're very easy to talk to. I feel like I've seen you before, outside of the theater, I mean. Where do you live?"

"Across from the Moulin Rouge," he replied, the answer escaping him before he had time to make one up. Inwardly, he cursed himself.

Her eyes lit up at the name, but just as quickly the gleam disappeared. She seemed suddenly uncomfortable. "I need to be getting home. It's late, and I'm dreadfully tired." She began to step backward, making ready to turn and leave. He found he could barely keep himself from following, the words that haunted him pushing against his determination to be spoken.

_Before you go, Satine, I have to tell you that I love you, so much that I found a way to cheat death to keep you from it. I made a deal with the Devil himself and now I've come back through time, only to watch you from a distance and long for what we can never have again. And the worst part comes when you look at me and you don't even know who I am. I love you so much that I'm willing to spend the rest of my life alone, and you don't even know._

Instead, he nodded and mumbled, "Goodnight, mademoiselle."

"Goodnight, Christian."

He wandered vaguely through the streets back to his humble apartment, looking at all the people he passed on the way and knowing that none of them realized it was the second time in their lives that they had done so. He felt poisoned by his secret, wanting more than anything to share it with someone and ease his burden. He had almost let it slip to Toulouse more than once, catching himself at the last second. It pulled at his resolve, weighing down his spirit.

And Satine. She was moving on, finding her place in a better world than in the one that thrived beneath it, wallowing in sin and betrayal. She would soon be a star, as she had always dreamt of being, on a glorious stage far from the Moulin Rouge and the clutches of Harold and the Duke. He knew he should be overwhelmingly happy, for it was exactly the thing for which he had signed away time itself. And in a way, he couldn't have been happier for her. Yet in another way, his heart was aching with the deepest regret he had ever known.

_I feel like I'm losing her all over again. _

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A/N: Special thanks to raindropsX, my.life.is.RaNdOm, fbi-woman, Rosemarie-ouhisama, The Sugarfaerie, firebolt669, and welshrose for the sustaining reviews. (Nope, I didn't forget about you guys.) I hope to hear from you all and more. Until next time... 


	9. Appearances

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Thank you for the encouraging reviews, for as always they keep me happy. I'm going on temporary hiatus for this story, only for about three weeks or so. I need a break because of this computer course I'm taking online, which requires quite a bit of time during my week. I'll be back soon (I promise!) so don't worry. Just please read and review, and I'll be getting to chapter ten in no time. Enjoy!

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Chapter 9: Appearances

He sat drumming his fingers against the battered wooden desk, concentrating firmly on his own thoughts inside the dark little apartment. The moonlight glinted off the typewriter, making the letters shimmer as though filled with inspiration for another story. Had he lifted a finger to those keys, he might have typed her name endlessly over and over again. Not from obsession, but because she was watching him from her perch in the Persian elephant.

Their eyes had met across the way, and where once he had flown from his room to stand in her presence, now he turned from the window and tried adamantly to focus on something else. He heard her singing, the sound faint and sweet as it drifted through his curtains. He tapped his foot and took a shot of whiskey, hoping the delicate tone of her voice would soon cease and he could go back to his solitude, immersed in silence.

When the music faded, he glanced outside despite himself; she was no longer in view, and the window to her room was dark.

With a sigh that was both relieved and regretful, he stood and ambled about the place, just stretching his legs and musing faintly over the past few weeks of his life. He never would have seen himself in such a place and time as he did now, actually _avoiding _Satine and in the grips of something supernaturally sinister. He hadn't seen Toulouse in awhile, and thinking of his predicament only made the need for a friend more demanding. The solitary burden was eating away at him, and the only thing that consumed his time other than his one true friend was counting the days that passed on the calendar.

One day in particular jumped out at him, a day he was more or less counting down to. The day when he would have to pay up on his end of the contract.

As he leaned over to pick a few crumpled shirts off his bed, a knock sounded at the door. Thinking it to be Toulouse, who no doubt wanted to invite him to yet another party raging upstairs, he opened the door to find Satine standing on the threshold. The color in her cheeks was up, her skin slightly flushed as though she had run the entire way to his doorstep. For a moment they lingered in an extremely awkward silence.

"Hello Christian," Satine ventured first. He nodded stiffly, still unsettled by her abrupt arrival.

"Mademoiselle," he returned formally, and when it was clear she meant to speak with him without delay, he stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. She did so slowly, as though unsure if she should even be there at all, but came inside regardless.

"I hope I'm not intruding," she said, turning to face him. She gave him an uncertain smile, which he could not deny her one in return.

"Of course not."

"Since it's late, I'll try and be brief." She paused for a moment, fumbling with her purse. He leaned forward as the seconds stretched by, a tiny anticipation beginning to form. "I wanted to ask you a favor. You remember how I told you that I got the part at the theater I auditioned for?"

"Yes, I do," he replied warily. A vague notion of where this was headed leapt to mind, causing a profound unease inside. Yet his heart, (always the irrational thinker and strategist), could not help but find some dim hope in the situation.

"Well, I was wondering...," she trailed off, biting her lower lip, and then stood straighter, taking a deep breath. "I was wondering if you could help me in learning my lines, my...duets. When I heard you singing, I thought maybe you could...perhaps rehearse with me."

"You mean you want me...to sing with you?" Christian asked dubiously, running the idea through his head. He was already dangerously close to the limits he had set for himself concerning her, but it was still a jolt to his system to find that he was actually pondering her offer.

"That's what I mean," she said, looking apprehensive when he did not answer right away. She took a step nearer, and a wave of her perfume reached him. "That, and reading lines with me. I just want to make sure my performance is as good as it can be, and I'm afraid I can't do that by myself."

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about -," he began, trying to reassure her, but she interrupted quickly.

"I know it's a lot to ask, especially since we hardly know each other," she said, her eyes leaving his face for a moment. When they met again, he already knew what his answer would be. It was something he could not turn away from, if only because she was right there, so close and so real. "But it would mean so much to me if you'd help, just for a little while..."

Slowly, he contemplated out loud, "If I were to agree, where would we rehearse?"

At the prospect that he was considering, she seemed to brighten. "Atop my rooms, just across the lane. Though open, it can be quite private at times. And on the nights when Harold closes the Moulin Rouge for what he calls 'anticipating business techniques' we can use the empty concert hall."

"But aren't you afraid that Harold will find out? Singing there of all places...it will be risky, to say the least."

"Some things are worth the risk," she replied, and that defining light was shining in her eyes. He felt a familiar sense of warmth and pride building inside of him, making it impossibly difficult not to reach out and take her hand. "Besides, there's no where else to go."

Though a part of him admonished his resolve for it, he felt suddenly lighter, happier. "If just for a little while, then I think I can manage."

Her smile was genuine and brilliant, her posture seeming to relax considerably. In a fluid motion she stepped up and kissed his cheek, resting her hands on his shoulders for an instant before pulling away. A shiver proceeded down his back, and he saw Satine put a hand to her mouth to restrain a giggle. He probably looked dumbfounded, but the thought of such an expression only made him smile in return. And suddenly he wanted nothing more than to keep that night going.

"Mademoiselle, would you like to take a walk with me?" he asked, and offered her his arm on impulsive daring.

Smiling playfully, she took it. "Call me Satine."

They walked for some time, talking of whatever came to mind in whatever mood they stumbled upon. Christian listened with rapt attention as she described her dreams, wholly new to him though she had told him once before in another lifetime. The heat from her body was comforting in the chilly winds of fall, her dulcet voice leading him into calmer memories. What little he spoke of himself was inspired by the man he had become when he had met her, for that was truly all he was now. At certain intervals she would rest her head against his shoulder, and it was enough just to walk in the quiet that way.

When he finally dropped her off at the Moulin Rouge, a simple euphoria seemed to radiate around him. It followed him home, giving him temporary reprieve from his anxieties, his depression. The thought that there might at least be friendship between them, for the time he had remaining, was strong enough to lift his spirits higher than they had been in months.

Yet the minute he opened his door, the sensation vanished. He felt the floor drop out from beneath his feet as the man sitting behind his desk looked up, thin lips curling up in a knowing smile on a pale, gaunt face. The dull reddish gleam of those eyes held him to the spot.

"Hello Christian. I'm glad you're back. There are some things we need to discuss."

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A/N: I know it's evil of me to leave it at that, but I really need the break. But on the bright side, some questions will be answered in the next update. See ya soon! 


	10. Devil in the Details

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Sorry about the wait. I know it's been a month, but I hope you're ready, willing, and able to read the next chapter. It's quite a bit longer than any of the others, so that should cheer up some my disgruntled reviewers. That's about it, so let's get on with the good stuff.

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Chapter 10: Devil in the Details 

The silence that followed was incredibly deafening, filled only by the sound of Christian's faint breathing and the soft lull of the breeze against the curtains. For one wild moment he considered turning on his heel and running back down the hallway, but he knew it would be pointless to try. The man inspected him calmly over the bridge of his interlaced fingers, pulling one free to gesture with a composed air at the empty room. He still wore his thin smile as he spoke.

"Are you just going to stand in the doorway all night?"

"You've been following me." He stepped into his apartment as though it were a foreign place, completely in the domain of a dangerous animal. He closed the door softly, feeling like he had just sealed himself inside his own coffin. He took a steadying breath. "You have, haven't you?"

"I have interests to protect, Christian," he said simply, his voice almost echoing itself with a strange, musical quality. Despite his apprehension and mistrust, Christian felt himself relax slightly at the sound of that voice; it was so comforting and sensible. "I take great care in seeing to them."

"Like now." He inclined his head ever so slightly, as though in silent consideration. "So tell me, are you enjoying your excursions?"

Christian felt it would be prudent to choose his words carefully. "It's...not what I expected."

"It rarely ever is."

He stood abruptly, seeming to unfold himself from the shadows in one fluid motion. His movement was both graceful and lithe, threatening in a way and yet enticing in another. Christian took an involuntary step backward to even out the distance between them, and the man paused, a vague sneer dancing across his features. The face was terribly pale, the eyes shining in contrast to the skin with their reddish flare. Amusement was evident in those diminished sapphires.

"There really is no need to feel defensive, I think. We have a business agreement, after all; it's not as though this is our first meeting."

"I don't even know what to call you," Christian tried to say aggressively, but it came out in the form of a heated whisper.

The man before him seemed to brighten. "Afraid to speak it aloud?" He paused for a moment as his smile widened, though the gleam of it never reached his eyes. "Of course, for modesty's sake, I believe I should come down a bit. Perhaps to a more reasonable name, however disguised. I think...Val will serve adequately."

A nasty leer accompanied his lips as he spoke the name, and no matter how hard he tried, Christian could not dislodge the feeling of significance in it, whatever the implications behind the word could be. The room held a thicker atmosphere than when he had entered, the corners of the room seeming to darken into obscurity. With deepening unease, he noticed that the curtains were now still, the breeze non-existent, and that no sound passed through his open window from the streets below. An eerie hush had descended, making the world outside appear vacant.

"Why are you here?" Christian asked, trying to ignore the frantic thumping that pounded in his eardrum. A moment later he realized it was his own heart, and he took another deep breath in a fruitless effort to calm his raging pulse.

"Just to check in," Val replied, leaning casually against the desk. He eyed Christian with obvious suspicion. "There is also the matter of our arrangement. I truly hope, for your sake, that you have no been contemplating on the idea of..._deviating _from the terms of the contract. The consequences would be severe, and not only for you, I should imagine."

"What do you mean by that? If your implying that I meant to leave Paris-," he began, but was instantly cut off.

"That's exactly what I mean," the other hissed, and Christian barely withheld a shiver at its snakelike nature. The man straightened to his imposing height, his eyes flashing with sudden anger at the possibility of deceit. "The more melancholy you appear to become, the more your tendencies to roam about seem to grow. Walking to the farthest reaches of Montmartre, looking out across the Seine. Why, the Bouffes du Nord lies nearly at the city limits. Could it be that you are planning to travel out further than we originally settled on, Christian? Are you trying to escape your own chosen fate?"

"I know my boundaries," Christian said placidly, having long been resolved to what he had signed away. He even forced a crazed sort of laugh at the idea of 'escaping' to somewhere. "As if I could go anywhere in the world where you couldn't follow."

"That is beside the point," Val insisted, but his incensed temper seemed to dissipate slightly. A twisted smirk arose after a moments hesitation, and Christian felt a wave of anxiety as the man advanced a few steps. "Yes, it appears you have many boundaries, but some of which I did not impose."

"Tell me, after everything you have gone through to secure this newly fashioned destiny, why do you keep your distance from your prize? Why do you avoid Mademoiselle Satine, when she is obviously what you desire above all else?"

"I have my reasons," Christian replied softly, swallowing hard to dislodge the sudden lump that had risen in his throat.

"And would those reasons have anything to do with..._love_?" Val asked, nearly forcing the word as he spoke with disdain. He took another step closer, and as he did so a thin, pallid hand reached inside his coat and retrieved a rolled up piece of paper. It was secured with a black silk ribbon, and Christian felt his mouth go dry as he recognized it for what it was. Val continued, "Like all contracts, this one has a deadline, one I'm sure you've been thinking of more and more as time wears on. Is it that you want to spare her heartache, Christian, or that you're afraid you'll succumb to your own weakness? Afraid that, should you fall to temptation, the need to remain with her would push you to breach the conditions on which I brought you back?"

He was taunting him, circling like a vulture while idly tapping the contract lightly against his palm. Christian tried to focus on anything else in the room, hoping to block out the words that were creeping into his mind and making the blood turn to ice in his veins. He was a cornered animal, the panic beginning to engulf him as the desperation of his circumstances were pressed in upon him. Even as Val came to stand before him, he felt himself on the verge of collapse.

"I have held up my end of the bargain. Satine is a healthy individual now, unrestricted by any terminal illness and free to pursue whatever dreams that death put to a premature end. But what of you, Christian? Your days are dwindling to a fine point. I would advise you to take what pleasures you can before they are perpetually lost. You could have her, you know; she may be the last sliver of heaven you'll see before the descent. You might as well take it, while it still walks so willingly to your doorstep."

"Stop it!" Christian stepped back, putting his hands over his ears as though the words had been shouted at him. His eyes burned with unshed tears, the agony of the inevitable rising in his throat like bile, making him feel as though he couldn't breath. He cried hysterically, "Don't speak of her! I won't...I _can't _let her heart shatter the way mine did. I won't let it happen, not to her. Quit mocking me with what I can never have! Why are you doing this to me? You have everything now! My freedom, my passion, my soul. What else do you want from me?!"

With a simple, almost indifferent wave of the hand, Val struck him across the face. He fell backward into the wall, the force of it driving the air from his lungs and causing his vision to blur. As he gingerly raised a hand to his stinging cheek, the horror and dread began to slowly ebb away, leaving only exhaustion and a type of resolute bleakness in its place. Without conviction, he slid down the wall to rest upon the floor, dimly aware of Val as he towered above him.

"You ignorant little man. So you've sold your soul to the devil?"

He spoke quietly, the deadly calm of his voice like some twisted caress as he moved ever nearer. "Every man sells his soul to me, but that is rarely ever the full price, is it? The devil is in the details, Christian; he's in the words on this simple piece of parchment, in your signature, in Satine's health and happiness...and he's even in your very blood as it lay stained in the mark of a fingerprint, binding you to your own damnable decisions. Hate me if it pleases you, but blame me for nothing. I didn't force you to put your name down. I merely offered you the means to obtain what you sought."

With catlike poise he crouched, like a predator before the kill, and Christian averted his gaze to the floor. Yet a bony, ashen finger slipped beneath his chin and tilted his head back, forcing him to look into those hellish eyes.

"You will remain in Paris. You will not violate the restrictions of the contract," Val admonished bluntly, as though he were speaking to a child. "If you infringe upon any of these terms, I will revoke my assistance in regards to Satine's health. Any questions?"

With suspicion, and with as much defiance as he could muster, Christian held that stare and asked, "Why is the Duke still at the Moulin Rouge?"

Something stirred behind those faded crimson eyes, possibly recognition or even fear, but just as suddenly the look had vanished. Val stood up, fixing his coat in a detached and very businesslike manner, refusing to look at the young writer sprawled across the floor. He stowed the contract back in an inside pocket, the thin silk of the tie caught momentarily in a stray beam of moonlight.

"As I have said, I control the actions of no one. What the Duke does is his affair, not mine," he said casually, but his posture was stiff and agitated. He met Christian's gaze with cold appraisal, the scarlet of his eyes seeming to glisten maliciously. "I would advise you to stop searching for a way out of your responsibilities, Christian. It will only make it worse for you in the end."

"I'll be in touch."

There was a brief pause, and then sound came flooding back through his window, the sudden hum of laughter and music after the prolonged and unnatural hush making him jump. He watched as his curtains billowed on a strong gust of wind, the bustle of Paris filling his tiny apartment and giving him a small amount of relief. Christian was not surprised that when he glanced back, Val was no longer there. The atmosphere felt electrified, like the disturbance left after an immense thunderstorm, and a prominent chill hung almost tangibly on the air.

Trembling as though with fever, Christian got shakily to his feet and made his way to the bed. He collapsed upon the covers, taking deep breaths to calm his nerves as the image of the contract flashed behind his closed eyelids. It had disappeared from his room only to reappear in those sallow hands, his choices and their consequences bound by a single black ribbon. He could not deny the truth of Val's words, for he knew it had been a conscience act on his part to forge the deal. He had been the only one to sign, yet the knowledge did nothing to lessen the hopelessness of his situation.

He was trapped.

He rolled onto his side, putting his back to the window where the lights of the Moulin Rouge blared in fantastic shades of color. Satine's face glowed clearly in his mind, her smile brightening the dark corners of his guilt and terror. Gradually, a weak tranquility settled over him as remembered the distant sound of her voice and the warmth of her arm next to his, hardly daring to believe he had been at her side only an hour ago. He almost thought that he could dimly hear her singing from somewhere as drowsiness overcame his senses.

_She may be the last sliver of heaven you'll see before the descent._

Yet it was the smooth, honeyed texture of that voice which followed him into a fitful slumber.

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A/N: So, part of the deal was that Christian stays in Paris, and that he will have to eventually give up his soul to Val. Yet it seems there is one more thing to the contract that hasn't been revealed. And what's up with the Duke? All in good time, I promise. Actually, probably in the next couple of chapters. Please review and tell me if the wait was worth it. 

Incidentally, val means "choices" in Swedish. I was inspired by some of their folktales...


	11. Under the Weather

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: As always, thanks to my dear reviewers. I cherish you guys! Not really much to say, so just read and enjoy.

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Chapter 11: Under the Weather

It took him some time to come around the following morning. He felt as though he were trying to surface through several layers of fatigue, his head resting like an iron weight on the pillow. He shivered as though he were chilled, yet he could feel the sweat on his brow from fever. He did not open his eyes immediately, for they felt too heavy to lift, with images and emotions flashing through him until he lay on the verge of nausea. He let out a moan as a stab of pain went through his jaw at the point where Val had struck him.

A trickle of water slid down his face, and for a moment he thought he had broken out into another cold sweat. But the water was cool and soothing over his skin, and he could feel the gentle pressure of a compress against his forehead. He tried to speak, but his throat felt thick from shouting and ached from lack of water. He felt the rim of a glass touch his lips, and as he took a tentative sip, a voice issued from somewhere above him.

"You need to drink as much as possible. You're terribly dehydrated."

He choked. "S-Satine?"

"Shh. Rest," came the soft reply, and he finally forced his eyes to open.

The drapes had been pulled to block out the sunlight, glowing dimly behind the faded gray material. She sat in a chair next to his bed, a bowl of water resting on the floor at her feet. Her blue eyes seemed to shine brightly in the gloom, staring down at him with concern as she set the glass on the edge of the desk. A delicate hand brushed his cheek, and even in his weakened state he took a second to relish it.

"When did you get in last night?" she asked, her fingers trailing down to the bruise that no doubt lingered on his face.

"Late," he said curtly, and tried to sit up. His head spun horribly and took the room with it, jumbling up his possessions in a dizzying manner. Satine laid a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back onto the bed.

"Don't overdo it," she said, picking up the wet rag that had fallen on the covers. "You're still very weak, and your fever only broke a few hours ago. You need to build up your strength."

"How long have you been here?" he asked, his voice sounding extremely brittle to his own ears.

"Since...early this morning," she replied, and even in their dim surroundings he could tell that she was blushing. She had been with countless men, and yet here she sat, embarrassed by a slight display of affection and concern. Christian bit back a smile. "I came to ask if you'd like to rehearse with me tonight. I heard you mumbling, and you sounded upset, so when you didn't answer the door, I let myself in and..."

She trailed off, looking uncertain. He gave her a warm smile.

"Do you know the time?"

"It's a little past noon." She dipped the rag into the water dish, ringing out the excess and placing it back on his forehead. A throbbing had emerged in his temples, signaling the start of a headache, and he could not suppress another groan; he felt completely drained, his whole body aching and listless.

As he lay there, his eyes closed against the burning sensation behind them, thoughts drifted unbidden to his mind. He could feel Satine's hand resting on top of his own, but it felt so light, as though she were barely touching him. A sickly sweet voice was whispering in his ear, two ominous ruby eyes hovering in the darkness before him. His breathing quickened as he tried to block out the words.

_You might as well take it, while it still walks so willingly to your doorstep._

"Christian?"

His hand tightened momentarily on hers, and then he opened his eyes to find her leaning over him, staring down into his face with apprehension. She was so close that he could simply sit up and press his lips to her flawless skin, trail his fingers into her hair and hold her close. The idea scared him, for in that moment it seemed so straightforward, so easy, that he feared he would cave.

With great effort, he pulled his hand from her grip. "I'm fine. I was just remembering a-a nightmare I had."

"Listen, Satine. About rehearsing with you-," he began, intending to renege on his promise from the previous night. He had to distance himself from her as far as possible; Val's words would not leave his head.

Before he could finish, however, there was a knock at the door. Satine went to answer it and Christian reclined against the pillows, trying to think of the best way to tell her without appearing rude. As the door creaked open, there were two small exclamations of surprise, and then Christian froze as the newcomer's voice reached him on the bed.

"Satine! What are you doing here?" Toulouse asked delightedly.

"Hello, Toulouse. I'm here for Christian; he's very ill," she replied solemnly.

"Is he?" Toulouse said, his voice laced with concern. "Well, it was very thoughtful of you to come and watch over him. Of course, after being in a rela-"

"Toulouse!" Christian called loudly, and he saw the short man's head appear around the doorframe.

Satine moved aside as he came in and took the seat near the bed, peering anxiously into Christian's face.

"Christian, my dear boy," he said, his eyebrows stitching together as he observed the young writer. "You're dreadfully pale. What is it, the flu? Do you have a fever?"

"He did, but it broke some time ago," Satine answered for him, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. Christian was studying the ceiling panels with rapt interest, avoiding her eyes. "He was shouting things in his sleep for awhile. I was afraid to leave him alone."

"Has he had anything to drink?" Toulouse asked, addressing Satine as though Christian were not there.

"Yes, I -"

"Yes, _I_ have," Christian interjected, sitting up tentatively. He grew slightly dizzy, but it passed after a few moments. "It's really nothing. I'm sure I'll be fine by this evening."

"Maybe not, Christian. If you're not feeling better yet...," he trailed off, glancing at his watch. With a puzzled expression, he turned back to Satine. "Aren't you suppose to be at the theater soon?"

"Yes, in a little while," she said, a hint of regret in her tone, and Christian felt a cold weight drop into his stomach. "But I can't leave with Christian like this-"

"Satine, really, I'm fine!" Christian exclaimed, though his strength was already waning from the effort to keep himself upright. _I'm already affecting her future_, his thoughts murmured. "There's no reason for you to skip rehearsal. I'll be alright on my own-"

Satine was watching him uneasily, biting her lip and looking doubtful. Christian turned to Toulouse, silently pleading with him to convince her. Toulouse gave him the tiniest of nods and a fleeting smile before turning back to her with a kind and knowledgeable expression.

"Satine, it's alright. I'll stay with him," Toulouse said reassuringly, and her face split into a winning smile.

"Oh, Toulouse, could you? It would mean so much," she said, and swooped down on him, favoring his cheek with a grateful kiss. Christian barely contained a laugh as Toulouse turned a brilliant shade of pink and muttered something about it being no trouble at all. Satine turned back to him. "I promise I'll look in on you when I get back. I hope you feel better, Christian. Get some rest."

She swept gracefully from the room, the smell of her prefume lingering on the air, and then Christian fell back onto the bed, completely exhausted. His heart was still racing from the appearance of Toulouse, who had nearly let slip what would have caused an extremely uncomfortable situation. His muscles were taxed from trying to support his weight, and the dull throb in his head had grown to a pounding headache. He moaned again.

"You really don't look well at all, you know," Toulouse said, reaching for the water glass on the desk. "But take heart, Christian; she wouldn't have risked her dream career if she didn't still have feelings for you."

Christian, who suddenly felt sick with shame as well as fatigue, didn't answer.

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A/N: Review. Please. 


	12. Bittersweet

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Well, I'm about halfway done with the story now, maybe a little more than that. I hope you've enjoyed it so far, and thanks for the reviews, as they always brighten my day. So, just read and tell me what you think!

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Chapter 12: Bittersweet

Over the next few days, Satine and Toulouse kept a very close eye on Christian. His health generally improved, though his sleep was constantly disturbed by nightmares that jolted him awake every few hours. Fever came and went, holding out for shorter periods of time until it eventually stopped altogether. For the most part, he simply lay in bed and tried hard to concentrate on anything other than Val, while counting down every precious second in Satine's company.

It was as he laid there one afternoon, some few days later, that Christian arose from the bed with the intent of going out; lying around as his time diminished was simply maddening. His muscles were stiff from disuse, and his exertions for common tasks required more effort than he remembered. Other than being weak, however, he felt perfectly fine, and he dressed in lighter spirits than he had known for days.

Yet as he opened his closet, the contentment died away. A mirror hung on the inner side of the door, and as Christian caught his reflection in it he felt a chill pass through him. His face was unbroken and unblemished, without any swollen or discolored skin to mar his features. There was no bruise to speak of where Val had struck him, but as he lifted his fingers to his jaw, he found the spot was still tender to the touch.

As he leaned in to examine more closely, he heard the floorboards creak and glanced out of the closet. Satine stood in the doorway, watching him with mingled confusion and disapproval. He jumped a little at her sudden arrival, shaken as always when ever he found her to be so close.

"What are you doing up?" she demanded, striding into the room and leaving the door ajar. "Christian, you should be lying down!"

"Don't you ever knock?" he asked with a tiny hint of amusement.

"Rarely," she replied, and smiled teasingly. She stood silently for a few moments, watching him as he collected his hat and laced up his shoes. "Where are you going?"

"For a walk. I need a little fresh air and sunlight," he said, slipping on his jacket. He was ready to leave, but he found that Satine was blocking the doorway from when she had entered, and he was inclined to believe she was doing it on purpose.

"That's true," Satine admitted. Her smile held something hidden, and as Christian studied it more, she seemed to sense his curiosity and grinned even more broadly. "You _are _a bit pale. Perhaps you could walk me to the theater."

"Satine, is something the matter?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'm just glad you're feeling better, is all," she replied, and then took a few steps nearer. "At this rate, you might be able to come by soon and we could, you know...rehearse."

Christian suppressed a groan. He had feared this was the idea she was bearing in mind, and was already feeling the beginnings of depression at having to backtrack on his promise. He let out a faint sigh, shuffling his feet in a distracted way while trying to find the words to begin. His demeanor must have reflected his intentions, because as he looked up he found Satine considering him with a shrewd eye. He opened his mouth to speak, but she got there first.

"We don't have to rehearse if you don't want to," she said quickly, placing a hand on his arm as though he had moved to dash from the room. "I can do that on my own. I was only hoping for the chance to talk with you more..."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," he replied rather harshly, and turned so as not to see the stricken look on her face.

"Why not?" she asked, and he detected the slight tone of anger that had entered her voice. "I just want to spend more time with you - get to know you better."

"I'm not a person you would want to know," he said quietly.

"There have been plenty of men I didn't want to know, Christian, but you're not one of them," she said bitterly, and he turned back to face her. It was the first time she had ever spoken of her life in such a way, with the raw resentment of her situation so bluntly thrown out. She held her head up, as though daring him to speak ill of what she had said.

But her voice was gentle as she continued, "I've never met a man like you before, who honestly didn't seem to want anything from me. Harold wants me for business, Toulouse for the breaks he thinks I can give for the talent he finds, and every other man for the most obvious reason...but not you. I haven't felt this way about someone for...for a long time."

"Satine," he whispered, closing his eyes. "You're making this so hard."

"No Christian - that would be you," she replied, and he realized how much closer her voice sounded. He opened his eyes to find her standing right in front of him, staring up into his face with those impossible blue eyes. He could feel her breath on his cheek. "Why do you always have to make things so difficult?"

And with that, she kissed him.

At first, his bruised jaw cried out in protest, but the pain soon dissipated at his lack of interest. Her lips were soft and pliant, and before he could stop himself he was leaning into it, kissing her back. He wrapped his arms around her as he had longed to do every time she was within arm's reach, one hand at the small of her back and the other trailing away through her hair. She was so warm and real and _alive_, and the feel of her heart racing against his chest was nearly enough to shatter him...

With great reluctance, he pulled away gently. She was holding on to one of his hands, but this too he pulled softly from her grasp. He took a step back, something in him wilting and dying without a sound as he looked at her and shook his head slightly. Her expression was sad but resigned as she nodded, the way she ambled to the door with an air of defeat stabbing at Christian like a knife in his side. He longed to go after her, to spin her around and kiss her passionately, to profess love in its undying degree, but he only watched as she slipped quietly out of his apartment.

From out in the hallway, he heard her say, "Hello Toulouse. It seems he's feeling better."

Christian froze, his whole body tensing up. He stared at the door, listening to Satine's receding footsteps as they echoed off the wooden floor. When they had faded away, a dense and ominous silence pressed in around him, seeming to radiate from the corridor outside. After a few seconds, the door, which had still been left ajar, swung open fully to reveal Toulouse standing at the entrance. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were burning with the hurt and the lies.

"Toulouse -," Christian began weakly.

"What is this, Christian? What exactly is this?" Toulouse whispered, and Christian winced inwardly at the disgust he heard in his friend's voice. "In a relationship, were you? _Still _in love with her, _still _hoping she cared about a man whom she had never met? I thought we were friends. I thought you were a decent person, a good man."

"We are friends -," Christian tried again, but Toulouse wouldn't let him.

"This is sick, Christian. Lying to me about her was bad enough," Toulouse said, his voice rising in anger. His eyes sparkled with brimming tears. "How long have you been stalking her, then? How long have you been making up stories about the two of you? I can't believe...and we cared about you! We wanted to help you, to be there for you!"

"You don't understand, Toulouse," Christian said desperately.

"You were right," Toulouse spat, backing out of the doorway. "You're not a person I would want to know. What I do know makes me cringe."

He turned and began heading down the hallway, a sob escaping his throat as he retreated. Christian stood rooted to the spot with despair and shock, unable to comprehend what had just happened. It had all turned so suddenly; he had finally found a way to distance himself from Satine, and his heart was pounding hard enough to split his ribcage open; pounding from the kiss and pounding from the pain of it. And now...now he had lost Toulouse as well. He had lost everything that had ever meant anything to him, and he had done it of his own free will. Toulouse, his best friend, the one who had always looked out for him-

He made his decision before he had registered it. He tore out of his apartment and raced down the corridor, nearly tripping over his feet as he rushed the stairs. The sound of his heavy footfalls on the frail wooden steps was deafening, and the rail groaned under his frantic grip as he held on to it to keep his balance. He caught Toulouse at the third landing, jumping the last few steps to cut him off. He stood there panting for a moment, clutching a stitch in his side as Toulouse surveyed him with a cold disposition. Christian eventually straightened up, putting aside all thoughts of right or wrong as he steeled himself to speak. They were almost eye to eye this way.

"Toulouse," he said, staring at his friend's tear streaked but livid face. "There's something I need to tell you."

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A/N: Yep, another intense chapter. Things are gonna come together soon, with some more action and maybe some more romance. I hope it was intriguing enough, or suspenseful enough; either way, just let me know. Til next time... 


	13. Confidant

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Thanks to my dear reviewers. You guys are too cool.

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Chapter 13: Confidant

The late afternoon sunlight seemed to pass lazily through the half covered windows in Toulouse's apartment. The exotic colors of the numerous stage props, usually so bright and dazzling, appeared muted and somewhat sinister in the fierce glow of sunset. Costumes were scattered about the floor and draped over furniture, while empty absinthe bottles and several revised scripts were dusted across the tabletops. Paintings and illustrations were fanned out across the walls, some of them quite provocative.

And for some reason, the backdrop of the mountain scene from that first, long ago rehearsal was standing up in a far corner of the room, pushed aside in a state of neglect. It was this Christian focused on as he told his tale, letting his eyes wander only vaguely in the direction of where Toulouse sat, unreadable. He saw images of that exuberant place and time, singing and reading lines in ignorant hopefulness, without any of those ties to love or death so adamently portrayed, but never truly experienced.

Toulouse, for his part, did not interrupt or make any move to speak. He was quite impassive, and might even have seemed impartial to those who did not know him. But when Christian dared to catch his eye, he could see the inner workings and the icy glare behind an otherwise indifferent expression. Toulouse simply let the words ride a delicate tune to his ear; a tune of ridiculous happenings and morbid fancies, of tragic nothings, but not commenting once.

At last, Christian finished his story and waited. He had many ideas of how this scene would end, but for now he just sat in the wake of his own words, and waited, without thinking. The silence stretched on and on, pressing down on his heart and trying to pop the tiny swell of hope inside it. He eventually looked up at Toulouse for a lack of resolve on his part, and saw that nothing had changed.

"Toulouse?" He nearly whispered the name, caught up in a mixture of stillness and anxiety that was almost too constricting.

"Christian," he sighed at length, but the sound was more of sadness than exasperation - or disbelief. "I think that fever may have taken its toll on you, but even so, you lied to me before ever falling ill -"

"It's not because of the fever!" Christian said angrily; he made a noise somewhere between frustration and hopelessness. "I'm not suffering from any illness, mental or otherwise. Don't you think I know how crazy this sounds?"

"Obviously not, or you wouldn't have bothered saying it," Toulouse snapped, but there was something restrained in his tone, as if he were not sure of his answer, and Christian heard it. As if sensing this, Toulouse added with aversion, "But to envision Satine's death, Christian...that's utterly disturbing."

"I didn't 'envision' it! It happened that way, and I've done everything, _everything_, to reverse it." Christian stood and crossed to the window, watching the sun slip gracefully into the horizon. He rested his forehead against the glass and said softly, "It's ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, and yet I swear to you that I'm telling the truth. I loved her once before...I loved her and lost her and loved her all over again, but this time from afar."

"And the Devil suddenly just allowed you to tell me all this?" Toulouse asked sarcastically, but with an oddly gentle reluctance; he no doubt thought he was talking to an extremely troubled mind.

"He doesn't know," Christian replied, and this time he did whisper. He turned to face Toulouse, glancing involuntarily toward the door. "It said nothing in the contract about keeping this a secret; I'm sure it was just assumed that no one would be foolish enough to try, and so...I just couldn't...not you as well...I had to tell someone, and I didn't trust anyone else. I don't want you to walk away with the wrong idea of me. I'm not a bad person, Toulouse. I'm not."

Toulouse considered him piteously for a moment. "I don't think you're a bad person, Christian, just very confused."

"Confused," Christian repeated hollowly, and sank back down into his chair. He rested his forehead in his palm, the disenchantment in his heart enough to match the reasoning in his head. He had known Toulouse would either meet his confession with skepticism or outrage, but some part of his desperate need for understanding had pushed him to speak. He had only wanted someone to look into his eyes and recognize the desolation behind them...

"I don't know what you were expecting of me, Christian," he said softly, as though pleading with the young writer to explain further; to make it believable and sane, to find a way to continue their friendship. Christian sighed.

"Things aren't always as they seem," he mumbled, echoing the words of Toulouse himself from a world now redone and unattainable. Toulouse shifted uncomfortably in his seat, staring with apparent confusion and unease. "It may appear that I'm crazy, but that is simply your belief, which holds about as much fact as my own assurance that I'm _not _crazy."

"Christian, I am no fool," Toulouse replied with frustration and anger. "You may see me only as a drunken, vice-ridden gnome, whose friends are just pimps and girls from the brothels..."

Christian raised his head and looked at Toulouse, spectacles perched delicately at the end of the short man's nose, and listened to the words being replayed to him even as they resonated in his memory. Though Toulouse's tone was now one of indignation rather than comfort, the meaning was still plain. Christian felt a rush of sudden affection for his dear friend, who was obviously feeling some sort of guilt at not being able to help or understand, or fix what he so loyally cared about, and interrupted before he could stop himself.

"But you know about art," he said gently, and Toulouse visibly tensed in his chair. "I know you are not a fool, Toulouse. Yes, you know about art...and love, if only because you long for it...with every fiber of your being..."

He could almost see the wheels turning in Toulouse's mind, the doubt crumbling a little as his own thoughts were projected back to him, in exactly the same order as he himself would have used. He fixed an unblinking stare on Christian, almost as if he wanted to see through to his heart and discover if the truth really existed there.

"I had only hoped that you might find it in you to trust me enough...to believe me," Christian continued softly, and stood up with an air of succumbing to defeat. "You once sat and told me about your thoughts on truth, as well as freedom, beauty - and love. I didn't want to listen then, but you were right; she loved me. She loves me now, and you know it. I only hope that, by what I have done, she will live to love another, and be happy."

He nodded in a final gesture of farewell and headed for the door. He felt a tight, piercing sensation in his chest, and associated it with leaving behind a bit of himself in that place. Satine, of course, had his heart, Val his soul, but a fraction of both seemed to have survived long enough to wither away now, as their friendship was divided. He grasped the handle even as he heard Toulouse move behind him, the boards creaking as he turned to look at Christian's receding figure. He paused, sensing something unfinished; he was not brave enough to cross that threshold without knowing if Toulouse had anything left to say. He waited.

"How can you be sure?" Toulouse asked quietly, speaking as though he had tried to restrain himself at the last second; the hesitation was clear in that voice. "How can you be sure that she loves you? Truly?"

"Because it's Satine," he said without thinking, shrugging for his lack of explanation. Then, more to himself than Toulouse, he whispered, "Come what may."

He turned and left, retreating back up to his apartment to watch the Persian elephant and its curtained windows by starlight, leaving Toulouse quite stricken and uncertain in his wake.

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A/N: Ah, poor Christian. But alas, such is life. Anyway, we'll see happens between them, as well as with Satine. Review. Please. Another chapter soon, I promise. 


	14. Opening Night

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Thought I'd given up on it, had you? Sorry about that. Many technical difficulties and other personal crap has been going on, and I've had absolutely no time to work on this or anything else. But now I'm back, so read on and tell me what you think, if I've lost the flare for it, whatever. I've missed you guys and I want to see if you're still enjoying this story!

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Chapter 14: Opening Night

The strange, harmonic hum of the orchestra tuning in the pit echoed around the hall, the soft drone of hundreds of voices sounding almost like a purr. The audience was a tide of color and fashion, decorated in fine gems and elegant gowns and well trimmed suits. At the head of the stairwell the doors stood wide open, revealing a sliver of the night sky outside and a few scattered stars; the crescent moon gleamed like the forgotten half of a broken pearl. Christian sat morosely in his chair, absorbing every sight and sound, taking in the lush red curtains and the exotic carvings in the woodwork without noticing their texture or beauty at all.

The anxiousness in his stomach felt sickening when paralleled with the despondency in his heart, and the hypnotic vibration of the strings only seemed to heighten his awareness of those feelings. Some distance away, Toulouse sat rigidly in his own chair, just as determined to ignore the young writer as Christian was to do the same. Yet a tilt of the head and a slight flicker of the eyes every now and then revealed that each remained interested enough to keep glancing back, unable to take that last and final look.

_Perhaps there is some measure of friendship left between us_, Christian thought, though there was barely any hope to accompany it. _Perhaps he does believe, somewhere deep down, where his rational mind doesn't yet have full control over his heart and spirit._

As Christian stole another glimpse of his remote friend, the lights suddenly dimmed. There was a distant thud from overhead as the doors were closed, and the rustle of fabric against the soft velvety seats permeated the theater. The air he drew in didn't feel as though it could sustain him any longer, thick and laced with the keen edge of apprehensiveness. The mild chatter died away and the uncertain drone of the orchestra became a rich, vibrant chord, introducing the first act.

The curtains split and revealed Satine in full costume, a young and ardent lover sitting alone in a garden by the soft glow of sunset. She seemed suspended in one breathless moment, where the natural blush of her cheeks and the pondering half smile she wore radiated a certain ageless power. Something painful welled up inside his throat and sent a streak of intense longing throughout his body, seeming to draw him to her over the heads of the audience even as he remained seated, dying of memories and mistakes.

From that moment on the play was an incredibly laborious experience, filled with her voice and her movements, always slicing away at his emotional barriers and mental stability. He could only have said the play was about love, if any had asked, for his only interest was in her and her alone. She caught his eye once and nearly faltered, rocked unsteady by his appearance. Yet she recovered quickly and moved on as though nothing had happened, which for Christian was more painful than the way she had left his apartment, tear stained and crushed.

Just before the curtains closed at the end of act three, Satine found him in the crowd again, and he perceived she might have been about to smile, however sadly. But then he was staring at a blank crimson wall and the lights had come back on, the dim thunder of seats going up and enthusiastic applause ringing out as the audience gave a standing ovation. Christian did not linger, but went to stand in the foyer before the curtain call, wishing to be alone briefly. He didn't think he could bare seeing her a final time, smiling with charm and grace as admirers shouted their praise and threw roses about her feet.

Afterward, the prattle of excited voices arose instantly and engulfed the atmosphere. Women wrapped themselves in fur coats and gentlemen retrieved their top hats, ascending the stairs to where their expensive carriages awaited their return. Christian watched as they passed his solitary spot, all polished and gleaming as merrily as the jewels they kept in their precious safes. Yet their colors were all subdued, and not one of them sparkled as brilliantly as the diamond they had left behind in the strange ambiance of the stage lights.

It was as Christian sighed and turned to leave that the voices of two passing gentlemen caught his ear, and one of them, though pleasantly amiable and outwardly friendly, stabbed him full in the heart.

"Of course, dear Duke. It would be my pleasure," Val was saying, the smooth and glossy quality of his voice reassuring even now, as Christian's throat constricted with fear. "It is not out of line from my usual work, and since you already happen to own this particular theater, I'm sure the rest will be quite simple."

The pair came into his peripheral vision and he watched as they bypassed the main doors, taking a narrow corridor that led away into the administrative section of the building. A smug expression adorned the Duke's face, and Christian's hammered breathing caught in his throat as he considered Val's words. Did the Duke indeed own the Bouffes du Nord theater? Had he truly believed that Satine could be delivered from the grasp of the Moulin Rouge? Even now, when Harold and his diamond dogs seemed so far away, a part of their sordid world had followed her...

He stood there, almost on the verge of panic and quickly slipping into a state of despair. Val was conjuring up a dark and destructive deal, one expressly in concert with the Duke and which no doubt centered on Satine; of this he was sure. He had to do something. He would not let his plans, his hopes and dreams, his very _soul_, be borne away for nothing as the Devil reaped his benefits. If anything, he could not let them have Satine.

He began to follow at a brisk pace when he was suddenly halted by a stern voice from behind. He turned and found Toulouse glaring up at him, defiant to the end, and had he thought he could suffer no more? There was such suspicion in Toulouse's eyes, but what cut Christian to the quick was the disappointment he saw directed at him. The sorrow of that disappointment, that absolute shame, moved him to near madness with its grief.

"You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?" Toulouse asked, and there was an unchecked rage floating dangerously close to the surface. But Christian thought it came came more from anguish than indignation; his eyes were shining with unshed tears. "You follow her all the way here, with your ravings and your ludacris stories, to the one place she is truly happy. And what now Christian? Are you off to kill the Duke as well, for noticing what is so obvious to the rest of us? That Satine is a star, and should be catered to? If you can't have her, then I guess no one can! Is that right?!"

Toulouse's voice rose until he was nearly shouting, and many were startled by his outburst, huffing in annoyance and walking away hurriedly. When he came to the end of this little speech he drew in a deep breath, exhaling shakily and wiping at a stray tear that had managed to escape. He took a single, hopeless glance at the young writer's face, and then he headed for the door. Christian instinctively grabbed his arm, and perhaps it was the absolute desperateness in his eyes, but Toulouse didn't pull away.

"Toulouse, you were listening outside the door. You know what happened!" Christian said, a plea underlying his words. "She kissed me, Toulouse, she...she loves me! God, she's in love with me! I could have had her then, the woman I love more than my own damn existence, but I pushed her away. I let her go! Does that seem like the actions of a stalker to you? _Does it? _Because if all my apparent psychotic babbling and luird fantasies could have come true in that one moment, and I let it slip by, then I really am insane!"

Toulouse just stood there, his stolid expression never changing as Christian ranted passionately about his pain and loss. The gas lanterns threw strange patterns of light across the shorter man's face, glinting in the eye where the tears had been seconds before. Guests and patrons continued to file past, oblivious the plight of the two men standing off to the side. And even though the arm beneath his fingers was still tensed, the muscles rigid, Christian saw the change in Toulouse. He _felt _it.

"Toulouse, please," he whispered, taking his only chance and feeling his own tears building in his throat, making him breath shallowly. "The Duke is up to something, and if I do nothing, if _we _do nothing, Satine will be the one to pay the price. If you don't ever want to speak to me again, then I'll understand, but help me just once more. Just help me keep Satine safe, and I'll never ask of anything from you again. I promise."

The last few stragglers were leaving, the hall becoming much quieter without so many voices and footsteps to fill it. Christian waited for his answer, the reckless hope that had flooded his system at the sight of Toulouse now dissipating drastically. He had asked out of sheer loneliness, when he was brutally honest with himself. But the incessant need to convince his heart and mind that this was all worth it, all this self inflicted pain, was drowning out his senses.

After that brief pause, in which Christian thought the other man was about to brush him off and walk away, Toulouse replied softly, "I still don't believe you, any _part _of you or your story, but...I can't let anything happen to Satine. I'll come with you and we'll see if the Duke really is up to something, just to be sure. But then that's it! I want you to stop following Satine, and I don't ever want to hear from you again. Those are my terms. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Christian said without hesitation, and then released Toulouse's arm.

An awkward silence ensued, one which Christian was grateful for even in the face of Toulouse's distrust and borderline revulsion. When the hall seemed empty, Christian turned and started up the narrow passageway where Val and the Duke had disappeared, Toulouse following behind reluctantly. Even if it was only for an hour or so, and even it was begrudgingly, Christian felt heartened to be with his friend once more.

Because he knew it might be the last time.

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A/N: So, will Christian be able to convince Toulouse that Satine is in danger? We only have about seven chapters or so left, so I'd like to hear how you guys think this is gonna end. Hope you enjoyed it! And don't worry; I promise it won't be another two months before the next update. 


	15. Dropping Eaves

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Just under a month, but I made it! And as you can see, it _is _a long chapter, so it took a bit more time anyway. So hurry up! Start reading!

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Chapter 15: Dropping Eaves

The air was completely stagnant, weighing down so heavily on the lungs that Christian felt himself almost gasping for breath. Silence seemed to leak out of the walls, and every movement they made was like the crash of falling metal. Toulouse walked quietly at his side, his face strained as he concentrated on detecting the slightest sound from ahead, and wincing whenever either of them chanced across a rickety floorboard. Christian kept glancing down, hoping to catch his eye, but Toulouse was adamantly ignoring him, bent solely on the task.

The earlier sounds of conversation and laughter had faded away, and no doubt the doors had been shut to the public for the rest of the evening. Two lone figures ambled about some way up the corridor, and Christian hoped they would be able to reach them at a safe distance before he and Toulouse were ushered away from the theater. The going was slow, with every movement concealed behind a random pillar or flowered tapestry, but he never lost sight of his objective.

At length, the duo ahead halted their progress, and Toulouse and Christian quickly hid behind a nearby column. Slight murmurings carried down the hallway, and a somewhat girlish peal of laughter, (_obviously the Duke_, Christian thought), but no distinguishable words could be heard. He bit his lip in concentration, trying to make out what was being said, but only managed a frustrated sigh as he saw the pair enter a room across the hall. At the same time, a guard rounded the corner at the far end of the corridor.

"How are we ever going to get close enough to _hear _anything?" Christian whispered anxiously, cursing the guard as he made a show of lighting his pipe and admiring a painting on the opposite wall. "He might not leave for another five minutes, by which time they could be finished!"

He turned to Toulouse and experienced a moment of severe irritation when he saw that the man had clearly not been listening to him. He was oblivious to Christian, his eyes resting on a point directly across from them; a darkened crevice which concealed the beginnings of a narrow staircase. Even as Christian began to open his mouth, a saucy retort balanced on his tongue, Toulouse raised a finger to his own lips. _Hush_.

Christian faltered, and in that instant Toulouse grabbed his hand; his grip was firm but dry, and Christian took a shred of comfort from it.

_At least one of us has his wits about him_, Christian thought. _God knows I don't._

After a few calculated glances toward the guard, (who was now fixing his hair in the reflection of a window), Toulouse made a dash toward the shadowy stairwell, dragging Christian behind him. They immediately began to ascend, taking great care to step lightly while still keeping a swift pace. At the first connecting corridor to the left, Toulouse veered off and led them to a thick oak door, rummaging in his pockets as Christian stole a nervous glance over his shoulder.

From his breast pocket Toulouse withdrew a single silver hairpin, which glimmered brightly for a moment in the dimming lights of the empty hallway. Then, with a mischievous smirk, he inserted it into the keyhole. He pressed an ear against the engrained wood and fiddled about with the hairpin, moving it in slow, circular motions with a practiced hand. After a few tense seconds there came a soft click as the tumblers fell in place, and the door swung open on well oiled hinges.

"Never leave home without it," Toulouse said fondly, then placed it back in his pocket.

Christian hovered just outside the semidarkness, holding the door open to give Toulouse enough light by which to find a candle. When a frail glow came from the other side of the room, he quickly stepped inside and shut the door. Even by the dim light he could tell they were in an office of some sort; it was furnished with a polished oak desk and fine leather chairs, with stylistic paintings adorning every wall. Yet these things mattered little to him.

It was the voices that caught his attention.

At Toulouse's beckoning they retreated to the far right corner, crouching down in front of the grating before an air vent at the baseboard. The voices of Val and the Duke were emanating from this point, low keyed but clear enough to make out every word. As a prominent silence filled the room for a moment, Christian turned to Toulouse with a radiant smile plastered on his face.

He leaned over and whispered in his ear, "This is brilliant, Toulouse! I can hear every word."

Toulouse flashed him a genuine grin. "Of course it is. You don't think I get by on my good looks alone, do you?" Then, as though realizing he had shared a concise moment of friendship with one he detested, his expression became stony and unreadable once more.

"So, do we have a deal?" the whiny voice of the Duke inquired through the air vent, and both Toulouse and Christian made adamant hushing gestures at each other. They leaned in closer.

"Well, that depends," Val responded. "I have already acquired for you, with much hassle I might add, many of the Parisian businesses in Montmarte, including this theater. However, Mademoiselle Satine would require a much more subtle and intricate approach, not to mention that her life is already under certain obligations by the contract of another."

"But...but surely you could...I mean, you _are_..." the Duke stammered, floundering for a word and coming up short. Yet Christian knew, with complete certainty, what had been dangerously close to slipping out. "Well...I...good gracious, man! This isn't just a question of want! It is a question of _need_."

"To be sure, dear Duke. And of course, need is _must _when the devil drives," Val replied, and the glee in those few words made Christian's stomach churn. Beside him, Toulouse had let out a soft gasp, but whether in realization or disbelief, Christian could not tell. "But all guarantees aside, I believe I can manage to turn things in your favor. The cost, though, will increase, you understand?"

There was a slight pause, in which Christian felt his heart flutter briefly, and then the Duke replied in a rather high voice, "I accept those terms."

_Now I've got a traveling companion on my train ride to hell_, Christian thought.

"Good!" Val cried delightedly, and the rustle of fabric could be heard through the grate - they were putting on their coats, preparing to leave. "We can work out the finer details later, after I have had time to assess the situation. In the meantime, I think there is someone you should keep a sharp lookout for..."

As the echo of footsteps vibrated up the air vent, Toulouse stood and motioned for him to follow. They closed the door, locking it behind them, and made their way back downstairs. It was difficult, as the gas lamps had extinguished while the pair sat listening, and the steps seemed to creek louder than they had on the way up. At the bottom they came to a halt, making extravagant hushing gestures again as the voices of the Duke and Val drew nearer.

They were merely exchanging pleasantries, but as they passed the bottom of the darkened stairwell, so close to where Toulouse and Christian waited concealed, the atmosphere of the theater seemed to congeal. The hues of the colors were darker and somewhat translucent, taking on an unreality that Christian had felt before when standing in the presence of Val. From the way Toulouse fidgeted next to him, Christian guessed that it was not only himself that noticed this sensation, and experienced a fleeting, meager pity for the Duke, who was too seduced by greed to realize his own damnation.

Soon Val and the Duke drifted out of sight, their sound enveloped into the stillness of the theater until it was no longer present. As they stepped out into the now empty hallway, Toulouse suddenly dashed off in the opposite direction, slipping out his lucky hairpin as he went. He ran to the door of the Duke's office, his face strained with daring and concentration, and with a quick motion of the hand it flew open and Toulouse rushed inside.

"Toulouse!" Christian whispered frantically, scanning the corridor. He had no idea where the guard had taken off to, but the fact that he was no longer in sight, and that Christian didn't have the slightest clue _where _he might be, was absolutely terrifying. "Toulouse, get back here before the guard returns!"

For a few seconds that contained an infinite revolution of minutes, Toulouse did not appear in the doorway, and Christian could only stand frozen in place from anxiousness. His mind insisted that he could hear footsteps approaching, his eyes tricking him numerous times into seeing the elongated shadow of a figure coming around the corner. Then, with a soft thump of shuffling feet against the carpeted floor, Toulouse darted back into the hallway, shutting the office door behind him and hurrying back to Christian. He carried a rolled up piece of paper in his hand, secured tightly with a single black ribbon.

"Toulouse," Christian breathed, though he had such trouble gaining air that he couldn't be sure he had spoken at all. "Toulouse, is that...is that...?"

"Your contract," Toulouse replied hesitantly, and in his voice Christian heard a wonderful thing; not belief exactly, and possibly not even acknowledgement, but there was understanding there. Just a little, barely thriving, but Christian felt his heart lighten in an almost physical sense.

"We need to get out of here," Christian whispered, glancing up the corridor. He kept expecting Val to jump out from behind a richly decorated tapestry, his eyes burning with insanity and condemning the poor writer to even more unnamable horrors. "We should be able to slip out through a side door near the main entrance. I've used it several times to...well, to sneak into Satine's rehearsals. Come on."

They skirted along the corridor, staying close to the wooden pillars in case someone appeared in the hallway and they needed to hide quickly. It seemed no one was left in the drafty theater however, and they reached the door undiscovered. They crept outside, glancing cautiously up and down the street, then made for a shadowy alley across the road. Only the sliver of the crescent moon hung overhead, shedding a dim radiance to walk by.

His mind was numb with confusion and dread - confusion for the conversation he had only heard the tail end of, and dread for Satine. What was Val planning to do? Did the Duke seek to claim Satine as his own again? He couldn't see how Val might find a way around his contract, for he had specifically wished for Satine's freedom in _all _things. But the man, then again, was the devil.

_I must speak with him_, Christian thought, and an irrepressible shudder carried down his spine; his very blood seemed to solidify at the mere thought, but he knew it was the only way to guarantee Satine's safety. He shuddered again, and Toulouse gave him a worried glance. _I must speak with Val and find out what he's planning. I can't let him ruin this - I have nothing left but an unreciprocated love, and I must protect it, else I give up my soul for nothing._

He felt the fear rising to a panic, and shook his head roughly. _Think about something else, even if it's depressing._

His mind, understandably, turned to Satine, and the abrupt changes he had been subjected to over the past few weeks. His heart had become a shattered remnant of lovelier days, pieced together scantly only to fracture again whenever Satine came across his path. And now the fragments lay scattered about him, for he had pushed Satine away to the limit of his abilities and knew he could never repair the damage this time.

Yet Toulouse stood next to him, mild with the musings of the past hour and without a trace of scorn left in his face. Perhaps it still lingered somewhere deep inside, nestled away in his mind, but Christian didn't think so. He had at least reclaimed some tiny glimmer of their friendship, and if that was all he could accomplish before his stretch was up, then it would have to be enough. But every turn he made anymore brought with it a gain or a loss, a friend or an enemy, and he feared for what each passing day might bring. He sighed heavily with exasperation.

_I can scarcely imagine where I'll be tomorrow._

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A/N: Uh-oh! What's gonna happen when Christian goes to talk with Val? AH! (Can you tell I'm in a strange mood?) But Christian might be delayed a little bit before he can speak with the devil. You'll see. Anyway, please review as always, and let me know your opinions, your theories, etc. Thanks! 


	16. Poetry

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Hi there again! Thanks to all my dear reviewers, who are sticking with me even as the updates get a little further apart. But in my defense, the chapters _are _getting longer and my work load is getting bigger. Don't worry though; I'm sticking with it, through thick or thin, through good or bad, etc etc. You may read now.

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Chapter 16: Poetry

He stood on the landing with the moonlight pooled about his feet, the hazy lights of the Moulin Rouge pouring in through the dusty window and glinting dully off the floorboards. The door to his apartment lay feet away, but something still compelled him to stay a moment longer. He looked at Toulouse, who met his gaze with suspicion and deep anxiousness, and then let his eyes fall to the contract.

"How did you know that it would be in the Duke's office?" he asked, though he knew it was only a question to fill up the earsplitting silence.

"Just a hunch," Toulouse replied, giving a jerky movement of the shoulder that Christian took to be a shrug. "I thought perhaps if the Duke knew so openly about what...what Val _was_, then maybe they had some other dealings together. And I was right. He had a whole drawer full of these, and probably more in the other cabinets. I don't know; I was only interested in this one."

A tingling sensation made its way up his spine, and as comprehension filled his head, Christian's stomach turned over. An entire drawer full? Possibly an entire _office_?

_Maybe this is the reason for keeping me in Paris, _he thought._ If he has so many in this city alone, imagine how many souls he must have worldwide. He might not be able to keep track of all of them unless they stayed within in their own little prisons. Perhaps the devil does have a weakness._

Though the idea was vengefully entertaining, it did nothing to appease him. He was, after all, a special case, and Val would not forget him so easily...

"Christian?" He jolted out of his reverie at the sound of his name. He glanced down at Toulouse, who asked softly after a second's pause, "May I take it with me? Just for a little while?" He held up the contract, secured by its ominous little ribbon.

"Still don't believe, then?" Christian asked, and could not keep the slight note of accusation out of his tone. Toulouse bristled at the sharpness in the comment, his cheeks turning a defiant shade of red, and at the sight Christian's incentive to invoke guilt in the other man evaporated completely. He continued gently, "You're welcome to it, but you won't like what you find. The terms are strange, as well as the price."

His own words triggered something in his memory, and it came without consent. _Every man sells his soul to me, but that is rarely ever the full price, is it?_ With a great effort he quieted the phantom voice.

"Well, then," Toulouse mumbled, and after a brief scrutinizing glare, held out his hand. Christian smiled warmly at this, which seemed to fluster the other man intensely. "Don't just stand there and smile! Come on, shake my hand and be done with it. It's late and I want to get back home."

Still smiling, Christian grasped Toulouse's hand. "Goodnight. And thank you."

"Yes, yes," Toulouse said dismissively, and then headed upstairs without another look at the young writer.

Chuckling to himself, Christian went to his door. A deep agitation had settled over his heart, filled with images of the Duke and Val in their fine suits, walking together down the hall of _Satine's _theater. Yet the interlude that had just passed on the landing, and the handshake still lingering vaguely on his palm, caused his spirits to rise more than he could have possibly hoped for. He sighed contently for the first time in days and stepped inside.

When he saw Satine standing at the window, the feeling evaporated instantly.

His first instinct, as absurd as it sounded, was to run back down the hallway. But even under the gravity of his situation, he could not bare to do such a thing in front of her. Instead they regarded each other warily, like two estranged animals at the heart of the jungle. As he might have predicted, she ventured first.

"I know I shouldn't be here," she said quickly, turning to face him fully; the lights pouring through his curtains danced like living fire across her face.

"Then why are you?" he asked gruffly, and her mouth became a thin, stern line. It cut him profoundly to speak to her so, and to see his own pain reflected back to him in her face, but he had to make her understand.

"Because I saw you at the performance," Satine replied curtly, and then continued with a sarcasm in her tone that seemed to ring cruelly in his ears. "Because when our eyes met...perhaps it was foolish, but I almost thought I saw tears in your eyes."

"Perhaps you're right," he said, taking a step further into the apartment. "It probably was foolish."

"Foolish maybe, but at least it wasn't heartless," she said, flaring up at his words. "I don't understand how you can be so distant after the friendship we shared."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I got the impression that you didn't want to be 'just friends' anymore," he snapped, and at last found the courage to shut the door, slamming it hard against its hinges.

"I care about you," she said vehemently, "and I _thought _you cared about me."

"I guess you thought wrong, then."

Christian," she said with finality, and he faltered. "If you don't want to see me anymore, then why did you come?"

To this question, he would not answer. All at once he couldn't stand to look at her anymore, standing as brightly in his vision as the sun glinting off newly fallen snow. He averted his gaze to the floor, grateful for the dullness of the wooden boards and his scuffed up shoes. Distantly, he heard her sigh.

"You're leaving Paris, aren't you?" she whispered.

"What?" he asked sharply, startled enough to glance back up at her. She had stepped slightly closer to him, her posture somewhat shy but still fascinatingly defiant.

"That's why you're pushing me away," she said, her eyes mournful and, to him, dreadfully forgiving. "You don't want to hurt me, but...but you can't take me with you. That's it, isn't it?"

"Satine," he moaned, putting his hands to his temples. _Why _did it have to be this way? "You're making this harder than it has to be. I just _can't_..." He faded away, the question repeating itself in his head like a mantra as he closed his eyes, trying to block it out. All of it. Everything. _Why did it have to be this way?_

_It doesn't have to be, you know_, Val whispered in his ear.

"Shut up," he whispered back, so soft that he barely heard it himself.

He willed away the voices to an obscure corner of his consciousness, knowing they only lurked there now in order to spring upon him later. Val's voice might stay submerged for long periods of time, but his own constantly wound its way through his thoughts. His hands were pressing in against his temples with concentration and ferocity, wanting to squeeze out his torment and leave his brain without a single thought on which to dwell.

When he at last opened his eyes, he found Satine standing much closer (_so very close_, his heart murmured rebelliously) than she had been a moment ago. He tried to step back in surprise but discovered that he had lost the ability to move. She came within an inch of him and laid a feather light hand against his cheek.

"I don't know why you draw back Christian, when I can see so clearly that you want to lean forward," she said, and as if to emphasize this, she kissed him deeply with her hand still resting delicately on his cheek. It was passionate but brief, and when she pulled away he felt himself following her lips ever so slightly. "I can feel it in your kiss. I can feel it in the way you look at me. Are you ashamed of me? Of these feelings you have...for a whore?"

"Satine," he said again. Her words were not filled with disgrace or embarrassment for herself, but they still filled him with agony. Though every facet of his mind screamed out in protest, he allowed himself to lace his fingers through her hair, like water caught in every strand. "You have always been an actress, and nothing more or less than that. Never doubt it. But I...but I have nothing for you...nothing to give...it could never work out in the end-"

"I don't want a lifetime, Christian," she whispered softly, cutting him off with one of her artless smiles as it bloomed across her face. "Just one night."

_In the name of love. One night in the name of love. _The words were destroying his barriers, his resolve. _You crazy fool - I won't give in to you. _He kept seeing her with the stars glowing like a crown around her head, every part of him yearning for her. _I can't survive without your sweet love. _

_Oh baby, don't leave me this way._

There were no voices this time, only hazy memories that died as quickly as they appeared in his remembrance. His fingers trailed the sides of her face, the blue eyes piercing him with their own memories while his body moved forward, pulling her closer as he whispered back, almost regretfully, "Just one night. For you."

He kissed her lightly at first as they made there way back to the bed, feeling how fast her heart beat as it lay next to his. They made love slowly, taking in every caress with great care and savoring it for its fleeting comfort. Each touch was a pleasure and a pain in itself for him, smooth yet scorching with guilt and insatiable longing until the two sensations blended into one. It was beautiful if only because there had been a first time in a _different _time, and Christian could feel every contour of her skin while still remembering the texture of it with reverence.

She cried a little afterwards, the tear drops enhancing the astonishing blue of her eyes until he felt enveloped by them. He did not realize he was crying himself until she wiped away the tears from his cheeks. They held each other for awhile, listening to the music from the Moulin Rouge and watching the lights glare off the ceiling panes.

When he glanced down and saw that her eyes were closed, her breath fluttering gently against his neck, he whispered mournfully, "I love you." He swallowed back his mounting tears and kissed her forehead, soft as velvet, holding on to her as though he feared she might wilt inside his arms.

A little while later, just as he was drifting off, he heard her faint reply. "I love you too."

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A/N: Aww! Together at last, even if it is a sad union. What will come of this? And what will Toulouse discover in the contract? Review! 


	17. A Soul for a Soul

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: I know! It's been awhile, but I'm not giving up, and I will see this story to the end, so just hang in there with me. I'll try to get the next chapter up a little after Christmas, and since I won't be updating before then, I wish all my dear reviewers a safe and happy holiday. Now that we're done with the pleasantries, we can move on to the interesting stuff.

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Chapter 17: A Soul for a Soul

It was late evening. Only a sliver of orange remained on the horizon, casting deep shadows into the corners of Toulouse's apartment, where they hung like spider webs. The artwork which lined the walls had taken on a sneering quality, as though the subjects of the paintings could sense what was in the little slip of paper clasped between the young writer's hands. The light waned and still they did not speak, but the air was full even without the volume of words.

_I don't want a lifetime, Christian. Just one night._

How many days had it been? How long had he been sustained by the mere phantom smell of her perfume, or the daydreams of her warm body nestled against his? He knew it had only been two days, but a lifetime of memories had put years between them in the lengthening hours.

And how many days did he have left? Seven days. A week. He could barely look Toulouse in the eye, knowing that each time he did so it was another farewell; another way for his mind to keep the image and store it forever, since he would never again return to see his old friend. Never.

_This is it, _he thought, a jolt of pure fear sending the instant taste of adrenaline to his mouth. _Now I'll start counting down the days with my last events; last starry night, last walk through Paris, last kiss, last hug. A long list of lasts that I'll carry with me…into the fire. Into forever and ever and -_

"Christian."

With reluctance, he looked up at the sound of his name. Toulouse was staring at him with wide, almost childlike eyes, his posture rigid with apprehension and his face glowing with the hope that none of it was real. Praying that it was just a joke and nothing more. Christian's heart went out to him.

"So you didn't have to," Toulouse said quietly.

"Didn't have to what?" he asked.

"You didn't have to stay away from Satine," Toulouse replied, and for a moment an indiscernible emotion welled up powerfully behind his eyes. Was it awe, or even…admiration? "You didn't have to. But yet you chose freely to stay away from her…and I think I know why."

"I know what it's like to lose love," Christian said softly. "It's enough to make a person sell their soul because it feels broken and useless without its other half. I didn't want to let that happen to her."

Toulouse nodded with understanding, that strange light in his eye, but then his expression became dark. "But there's something I don't understand

"What don't you understand, Toulouse?" Christian asked, and for a moment felt oddly like a teacher replying to a student's inquiry in class. "I thought it was all pretty clear. Too clear, in fact."

"Well I didn't. What did it mean? What did it mean when it said 'And thereby will be my liaison to those who might seek service from my…' - I don't remember the rest, but it sounded…sinister," Toulouse responded, his eyes clouding with confusion and concern. "Christian, what did it _mean_?"

"It means that -," Christian began to say, and then paused to clear his throat. He crossed quickly to the window, every nerve in his body alight with dread. "It meant that…once he has my soul, I have to…work for him. I have to seek out others like me who can be…persuaded to…to sell their souls. To him."

Now he could see the translucent form of the moon high above him, the few visible clouds still trimmed with red and pink. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to see such a sight through eyes that were damned, but in a week he wouldn't have to; he would know. He would watch the sun set and then follow it into the darkness at the end of the world.

The idea that he might lead others into a trap like the one he had so easily given in to was horrible, but now he had no choice.

"I signed the contract," he whispered to himself. _Yes, but do you regret it? For Satine?_

"Wait. I still don't…you mean _you _have to collect the souls now?" Toulouse asked. He spoke awkwardly, the slightest edge of disbelief in his voice. He was finding it hard to process the absurdity of it all, but Christian loved him dearly for trying. "This makes no sense."

Christian sighed. "I won't collect the souls - that's not what it means. What I'm supposed to do is just find them. People who are worn from grief or depression, who are…vulnerable. I have to find them and…lead them to him."

"And then he pulls them in, like he did you," Toulouse finished softly, and what little color was left in his face drained away.

"He said it would cost me more than my soul, to bring her back," Christian said, speaking more to himself now. "He said he needed more than a soul for a soul, and I agreed. I _agreed _to that - to condemn others the way he condemned me."

"Forever and ever," Toulouse breathed, gazing out unfocusedly. Then he shook his head and looked desperately up at Christian, his dismay shining brightly in his eyes. "But…but certainly there must be a way around it. There has to be a loophole of some kind -"

"If there is, we'll never find it," Christian replied blandly, turning to face his friend completely. He saw exactly the same kind of fear in Toulouse's eyes that had resided in him for the past few months. "I've searched that contract a hundred times over. There's nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"I can't believe that," Toulouse said, standing up to retrieve the contract from Christian. He opened it and began to scan its contents, his eyes roaming quickly across the page in frantic little glances. "I _know _there has to be a way out of it. I've read dozens of books on myths and folk tales; there were tons of stories on this subject, and they may not have been simple legends now that I think back on them. Stories where people saved their souls by selfless acts, and even a few where they were saved because they inspired others to commit selfless acts for _them _by virtue of a good heart. Or there's even the theory -"

"Stop! Just stop, Toulouse!" he barked, putting his face in his hands. He took several deep breaths in a vain attempt to steady himself, although he could feel his fingers trembling against his face. He lowered his hands and said bitterly, "There's no saving me, Toulouse. I damned myself with purpose; I can't escape from that. I now know that Hell is not only a place - it's also a choice. And I made the wrong one."

His eyes wandered across the bizarre costumes and nude sketches littered over the tables to the insulation poking out of the walls, and none of it seemed to really contain depth anymore; it was all just a set from a play of his life. It was the calm just before the climax of the third and final act, but Christian already knew how the resolution would play out. Were it a musical, it would end in silence.

At last his gaze came to linger on Toulouse's face, and he said, "But I don't regret it. I regret that others will suffer because of my stupidity, that I have to be a recruiter in Val's sick business…but as for myself, I don't regret anything. Without Satine, I have no soul anyway."

And just as suddenly it had come upon him, the anxiety knotting in his gut relaxed and left him feeling strangely indifferent, as though the impending exchange of his soul was only an inevitable inconvenience. There was nothing left to do but to resolve himself, and only a single task to undertake before his week was up. He wondered vaguely if this was how a warrior must feel just before engaging in a battle that he knew he could never win, and found the answer in the question.

_I have to speak with Val, _he told himself, and felt a flicker of fear return. _Before the deadline. I have to make sure the contract will be upheld even after I'm…._

He stood up. "Toulouse, I'm heading back. I need to rest."

Toulouse, looking startled and slightly put out, replied, "Oh…yes. Yes, of course. Do you want me to walk with you?"

"That's alright. I think I'd rather be alone for awhile. You can keep that contract for me - it might be safer in your hands anyway."

He walked to the door, feeling stiff and overwhelmingly tired. He knew it would be tomorrow, without a doubt, and that somehow intensified his exhaustion. Tomorrow he would seek out Val and draw out the boundaries of the contract, hoping for the best and yet knowing that the conclusion would succumb to the worst. He only prayed that he would not see Satine before then. He had only resolved himself so far.

Before he shut the door, Toulouse called his name. He paused on the threshold.

"Christian," he said, so quietly that it all but faded away. A tear rolled down his cheek from beneath his glasses. "I'm…I'm sorry. I'm so terribly sorry."

Christian felt a tentative, sad smile rise to his lips, and just the sensation of a smile of any kind was enough to diminish the foreboding that hung about his head. There were a million things to be sorry over, and sorry about, but he knew which it was that Toulouse was referring to, and he found the apology to be the most unneeded thing in the world. It was as though there had never been a gap in their friendship, however brief, and for the momentary upheaval in his heart, Christian could have forgiven him anything.

He nodded, throat to tight to speak, and shut the door softly against his friend's tears. He then wiped away his own.

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A/N: So not only does Christian have to give up his soul, but he also has to find others willing to give up theirs - for all eternity. Unfortunately, that might not be the worst of it. We'll see when he goes to visit Val. Now press that crazy little button at the bottom of the screen and tell me what you think! 


	18. The Devil You Know

Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge

A/N: Hi everyone! Thanks to all those who reviewed my last chapter, and to those who intend to review _this_ one. I know my time between updates has been growing later and later, but with the holidays over I should have much more time to devote to my fics. Hope you all had a safe, happy holiday, and that you're ready for a bit more of Ballad.

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Chapter 18: The Devil You Know

The hall was desolate except for a few sparse visitors, walking vaguely from one point to the next through the mild hum of voices coming from the stage. Sunshine seeped in the windows and hung lazily on the air, though to Christian the light looked slightly murky with its dust particles revolving aimlessly inside the beams. A faint, stale odor hovered around the old tapestries and decorative curtains.

Satine was down on the stage somewhere, rehearsing her lines and slipping gracefully between the other actors. He made certain that he went unnoticed, trying futilely to block out her voice when it echoed up to him. He resisted the urge to indulge himself with a brief glance in her direction, knowing it was imperative that he stay focused; if Satine were to fill up his senses, it would be utterly impossible.

No one stopped him or asked of his business. Most of the staff was preparing for the performance later in the week, the one starring his Satine - and the one that would mark the place of his deadline. There was too much concentration floating around for anyone to observe his presence.

When at last he stood before the door, he was heartened to find that his nerves had abated a little. He glanced briefly up the corridor before knocking, the sound reverberating with a thick and strangely sharp resonance . There were footsteps inside and a few hurried whispers, and then the door creaked open to reveal a brown, squinty eye.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the aspiring writer," the Duke said with a small smirk, opening the door to reveal more of the tiny office; Val rested in a chair behind the desk. "I've heard a great deal about you. Struck up quite the business arrangement, I hear. I've seen you lurking about the theater a few times, and around a certain young actress -"

"I don't believe we've met before," Christian interrupted, his eyes never leaving the figure at the back of the room. "But thank God that there isn't time for us to be properly introduced now. I need to speak with Val alone."

The Duke's expression changed rapidly, morphing from a look of amused smugness to one of extreme insult. He opened his mouth to reply, no doubt highly affronted, but Val's cool and collected voice drifted in between them. "You were just leaving Duke. What excellent timing."

With a sour look on his face the Duke swept down the hall, making a point of bumping into Christian as he passed. Christian felt the smallest stab of envy as he watched the Duke's figure recede, left to face his fate alone within the windowless walls of the room before him. He entered the office and faced the door as he shut it, feeling almost as he had on the night Val had visited his apartment: he was closing the lid on his own coffin.

"Christian," Val said behind him as smoothly as a lover, and with a split second to regret his decision, Christian turned warily at the sound of his name. "How truly touching it is to have you come visit me. I was planning on stopping by any day now to discuss a few last minute arrangements, but now you've gone and saved me the trouble."

Christian tried to respond and found that his throat had closed up, making him feel faint and in desperate need of air. The dark file cabinets and the pastel walls seemed to be suffocating him with their contrasting colors.

_I have to do better than this_, he thought, opening and closing his sweaty hands. _I was doing fine before I walked in; I just need to remember why I'm her__e. It's for __Satine__. Just keep her__ in mind, in my heart._

"I need to discuss something with you," he began, and then something clicked in his brain. "Wait - what last minute arrangements?"

"Oh, just a few odds and ends to clear up," Val replied, standing up and coming around the front of the desk. With great force of will, Christian remained where he was. "I need to know, for instance, where you will be at midnight on Saturday. Of course, I have an idea, but just to be sure…"

When Val trailed off with a meaningful stare, Christian said softly, "You know where I'll be. Here. At the performance."

"As I thought," Val said with a curt nod, and then he reached inside his coat pocket with one pale, long fingered hand. "There is also a little issue I wish to address, one that displeases me profoundly, and one that I am deeply sorry to have discovered."

For a single, rather absurd moment, Christian thought that he was about to pull a pistol from his pocket, but what Val produced was even worse than he could have imagined. It was the contract, looking pristinely white and clean against its elegant black ribbon. Christian felt the blood pounding in his ears even as he wondered if the rest of it had not been drained completely from his body, his skin growing colder by the second. _Toulouse_.

How could he have left the contract with his best friend, knowing what a beacon it was? How could he have put Toulouse in such danger? _How did he keep doing the wrong things?_

"I'm very disappointed in you, Christian," Val said, clicking his tongue in an almost parental manner. "We had a deal, a set range of limits and expectations that were to be upheld - but I find that I am the only one upholding them. To become incensed at your situation, to despise me for your fate; all this I could understand. But to steal from me? How terribly unacceptable."

"What have you done?" Christian asked breathlessly.

"What have _I_ done?" Val whispered, and suddenly his eyes seemed over bright, as though he were looking straight through the young writer and out into the streets of Paris somewhere beyond. "No, no, no, Christian…what have _you _done?"

He grabbed the front of Christian's shirt and shook him roughly, an expression of disgust and contempt spreading across his face. When Val released him he fell into the door, managing to stay upright but feeling the jolt of it penetrating his bones. Anger welled up inside him, a startling emotion in his current situation, yet one that he welcomed gratefully. It only held out for a moment, however, and then Christian stared up into his face.

Val's skin had become slightly transparent, fading out to reveal a horrid face of sharpened fangs and mangled flesh below. The eyes seemed to be bleeding from the crimson irises, and there were insects crawling incessantly over his clothes, over the furniture, scrambling across the now darkened room and up the walls to cover the ceiling…

The vision lasted only for a second, (only as long as Val had permitted him to see, he was sure), and then everything slipped back into its simple settings. The walls were bare and unadorned with bugs, the desk and chairs as routine as in any other office. It had been so fleeting that Christian wondered if he hadn't possibly imagined the whole thing. But the slight electric charge that seemed to pulse in the air around him suggested it had been more than just a vision.

"How _do _you keep doing the wrong things?" Val inquired, echoing his earlier thoughts word for word. Christian could only gape. "Indeed, it seems you have quite a knack for making the wrong decisions. How am I to trust you to do my bidding for all eternity, Christian, if we have to start our long partnership with such a black mark as _stealing_? Not to mention dragging your friend into all of this, which was quite a selfish move on your part. But what really astounds me is the complete abandonment of your resolution to Mademoiselle Satine. You threw away her chance for happiness, and your own chance to save your soul, without so much as a backward glance."

Christian was breathing so fast that he couldn't feel it, the evaporation of his anger leaving him momentarily vulnerable to his rising fear. He took a step closer to that smirking face and asked, "What do you mean? What chance to save my soul? You never said a word about this."

"Of course I didn't. You think I would tell you such a secret? How would I stay in the business with that kind of work ethic?" He turned back toward the desk and Christian started at the two glasses of whiskey that had not been there a second before. Val offered him the first glass, which he declined, and then continued, "Yes, you see, all who sign such contracts as yours do so out of a purely inescapable selfishness, but the chance of redemption still lingers. To perform a selfless act such as the one you intended, to give Satine her happiness in exchange for your own misery, was something that troubled me deeply, for it would have atoned the sin of selling your soul. But now that you have given into your desires, you damned yourself a second time, and Satine as well; by taking her you broke the rules of your own contract, and took away her happiness. Now the object of making her happy or unhappy is no longer any of my concern."

"What do you mean?" he asked, though some vague part of his mind already knew. The question barely made it out through the tears that were pouring down his face. He was trying desperately to stay calm, but his heart felt physically sick and diseased with Val's words.

It had all been for nothing. Absolutely _nothing_. It was as though he were holding Satine's limp body in his arms again behind the curtains of the Moulin Rouge, all hope and contentment for the future irrevocably lost. That same horrific comprehension was settling over him, the sense that he was surrounded on all sides by the vacancy of a forever without warmth; that he had taken a great fall. What had he done?

"What have _you _done, Christian?" the devil asked him, and laughed. Christian winced at the sound. "You've made my job quite easier than I could have ever hoped for. You procured your own damnation by not just one but several selfish acts, and have now paved the way for another contract with another available soul."

"The Duke," Christian whispered.

Val smiled wickedly. "The Duke. He now owns both the Moulin Rouge and the Bouffes du Nord theater. His contract also insures that he will possess any other establishment that Satine participates in, and her whereabouts are to be known to him at all times. She will remain in perfect health, but because of you Christian, she no longer has to be happy, and she won't…because she loves you." Val leaned in, and the demonic vision flashed briefly before Christian's eyes. "You played right into my hands."

"NO!"

Without thinking he launched himself at Val, his rage so consuming that the images before him were bathed in a reddish hue. He met only air at the point where Val's body should have been, falling through the nothingness and connecting painfully with the floor. He heard laughter above him and looked up to see Val standing over him, his face filled with malicious glee.

"No time for that, Christian! You have more pressing matters that need attending," Val said, and the door behind him opened of its own accord. "Or have you forgotten the other person you so neglectfully wronged?"

Christian stared at him out of his wrath and anguish for a full minute before it hit him. "Toulouse," he whispered, and without another glance at Val he took off out the door and up the hallway, his mind filled with horrific images that his heart was loath to accept.

He crashed through the front doors, not noticing the soft blue eyes that wandered up in his direction. From behind him he could hear Val laughing again, the voice no longer carrying its sinisterly sweet tone, but sounding as deranged and inhuman as the vision Christian had seen in the office.

The laughter followed him out of the theater and into the streets, the thundering of his footfalls not enough to drive away the haunting sound. The tears came relentlessly, every drop holding the image of the clearest blue eye or the loveliest rose lips, a little piece of the paradise he had pushed to ruin. He saw him in every window as he rushed to Toulouse's apartment, in every sliver of glass and puddle of water; around every corner the devil was there, taunting him with the consequences he had never considered.

He was beginning to realize just how soundly he had forged his own prison.

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A/N: Oh dear. Seems the devil had a trick up his sleeve the whole time. And what has happened to poor Toulouse? I guess this would be considered a cliff hanger, in which case I will try to update as speedily as possible. Reviews, please. 


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